Trunk Boy
by DazzledIn2008
Summary: Older Bella/younger Edward. Bella has a secret-she has a taste for the male interns in her office and keeps them...in a locked basement. WARNING: Rated M for disturbing and violent and adult content. And for consensual-only lemons. BxE.
1. Chapter 1

**WARNING: This story contains disturbing and sometimes violent material. If violence bothers you, please do not read this story.**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

_"Please..." he whispered, his angelic face wet with tears. "Please let me go. Please. I won't tell anyone, I promise." _

_The basement was cold and damp, and he was shivering. She wanted to touch him, to reassure him, to let him know that she meant him no harm. She reached out to place her hand over his, and he flinched, pulling away from her instinctively. She smiled sweetly._

"_I'm not going to hurt you," she cooed in her most comforting voice, and she reached again for his hand. This time, he didn't move. She stroked his hand gently, tentatively, so thrilled to finally be touching him, her excitement building._

"_Then… what do you want?" he pleaded desperately, his voice cracking. "Why can't I leave?" _

_He noticed that the expression on her face had changed slightly, and although she was still smiling, he seemed increasingly frightened. _

"_Well," she whispered and winked at him conspiratorially, "I just want to play."_

* * *

**Disclaimer: All things "Twilight" belong to Stephanie Meyer. "Trunk Boy," however, is all mine.**


	2. Chapter 2

**WARNING: This story contains disturbing and sometimes violent material. If violence bothers you, please do not read this story.**

**

* * *

****Chapter 2**

New Orleans in August was one hot bitch.

I was standing at the window of my ninth floor office, staring out at the city below me, lost in thought. I could see people walking on the sidewalk, hurrying to get to work on time. It was only eight in the morning, but it was already 91 degrees outside. The heat was coming off the streets in waves. But this is not what had my attention. I was thinking about my basement. About what was _in _my basement at that very moment, waiting for me.

"Miss Swan?" An annoying female voice was clawing its way through my subconscious.

I ignored it and continued to mentally calculate how many minutes were remaining until I could leave the office at the end of the day without arousing suspicion.

She cleared her throat loudly, obviously directed at me, and started again.

"_Miss Swan_?" A little louder this time. Jessica hated me. It was mutual.

The moment was lost, so I put a smile on my face and turned to face the sadistic little office manager.

"Yes, Jessica, what is it?" As the words left my mouth, I became quickly aware of the reason she was invading my office - the young man standing next to her. I completely ignored Jessica's demanding little stare and turned my attention to our new acquisition.

"Miss Swan, this is Mike Newton, the new intern." She nodded at me with a fake smile plastered on her face. She gestured to Mike. "Mike, this is Isabella Swan. _Miss Swan_," she said with barely veiled contempt, "is the Director of Project Management here at AdOne. She will be your supervisor." That last part she said through clenched teeth, yet smile intact. She truly hated me and hated admitting that I was responsible for _anything_.

Mike smiled and extended his hand to me. His teeth were perfect, the obvious result of years of expensive orthodontia and monthly bleaching. His salon streaked blonde hair was casually falling across his forehead in a manner meant to be attractive to someone other than me. It was only a matter of seconds before he did the requisite head toss, and then the cycle would repeat itself, endlessly. His salmon colored Polo shirt was tucked neatly into his designer khakis, with the collar popped up in the back. He wore two-toned Sperry boat shoes, no socks. He looked exactly like every other intern. Daddy got him the job at the most prestigious firm in the city, and we had to suffer the consequences.

And he was confident. Cocky, even. Not the slightest bit scared of me. Well, I had some ideas about how to change _that_.

"Mike. Pleased to meet you." I gripped his hand and shook it firmly, one pump. He looked a little surprised for a second, like he expected one of those pathetic, half-handed, fingers-only handshakes that some women gave. I fucking _hate _that handshake.

I held his hand, just for a second longer than normal, just a little tighter than normal, looking into his eyes a little deeper than normal, searching... _There it is. Yes. Yes, he'll do_. I released his hand, still smiling.

Mike stared at me for a half a second, like he was stuck in gear and needed a kick, which, of course, I would gladly oblige if he were truly interested, but then the tickle of hair on his forehead activated his hair-toss cycle, and with one quick flick of blonde hair, he was returned to all his prep school glory right in front of me.

"Miss Swan, it's a pleasure. I've heard a lot about you from my father. You were in high school together, right?" _Nice_. He established an inappropriate level of familiarity _and _my exact age within five minutes of meeting me. He was going to pay for that later.

Mike's father, Bill Newton, owned a sporting goods store in the small town where I grew up - Forks, Washington. His nickname in high school was "Fig," but it was only used _behind _his back. Not very creative, I know, but considering that the population of Forks was only 3,000 or so at the time, the assignation of the nickname _itself _was a fairly significant event. If you called him Fig to his face, he would beat the crap out of you, which he did, several times, to the same unsuspecting losers who always seemed to crave a beating. Because of this, he always was a pushy son of a bitch, and over the years, he worked his way up through local politics until he finally nabbed a state Senate spot. He ran the state of Washington for several years, working every under-the-table deal he could, until he finally made the big time - the U.S. fucking Congress. Now, a couple of phone calls (and a politically misappropriated scholarship to Tulane) later, and his freshly-college-graduated son is standing before me.

I decided to completely ignore the high school remark and, instead, set the tone for our budding office relationship. Dispense with the niceties and move on. I dropped his hand and turned back to my desk.

"Newton… Mike, is it? Mike, I assume Jessica has filled you in on the basic requirements of the position?" I shuffled through some folders on my desk, my back to him, waiting for him to answer me.

Silence.

Interesting. We'll have to work on his responsiveness. A chill went down my spine at the thought.

I turned my head to look at him, and he was still smiling. It was a cocky grin that said "my dad got me this job so I can put it on my resume and then get a _real _job paying four times what any of _you _people make, and I plan on flirting with the female interns and playing on the computer all day, so don't bother pretending to instruct me on how do any _real _work."

I turned completely to face him and leaned on the edge of my desk. My eyes bored into his, and I spoke quietly but firmly. The rest of my staff knew what this tone meant, but the Newton boy was clueless. For now.

"Newton, you belong to me. When I want coffee, you'll get me coffee. When I need something copied, you'll run, and I mean _run _to the copier. When I need a file, you will search for that file in the file room like you were a hungry man and that file was the last crust of bread on earth. When I work until ten at night to prepare for an early morning meeting, you will be here with me, sitting at your desk, just in case I _might _need you. When I come in at seven in the morning to work on a project, you will be here at 6:30 with all the paperwork I need, a hot cup of coffee, and whatever breakfast pastry I happen to like at the time." I _hated _coffee and donuts, but I wanted to fuck with him a little, see if he was listening. "If I decide to work on the weekends, you will be here. If I decide to work from home, you will come to my home and work with me there. You will meet me in the parking garage every morning to carry in whatever I need carrying, and you will escort me to my car every night. _You will learn to anticipate my every need_."

I paused before that last line for effect, but I don't think it was necessary. He looked like he might have wet his pants. I think he was finally getting it.

Jessica had heard this speech a million times before, and she tried not to look bored or laugh as she stood in the doorway waiting for me to finish. She couldn't wait to report back to her minions. She was the queen of a very tiny kingdom of secretaries and lowly paid office workers, and she ruled over it like Elizabeth II herself.

Mike stood there, seemingly in shock. Apparently, no one had ever spoken to him like that before. I don't think he was expecting to have to actually _work_. I raised one eyebrow at him, waiting for some sort of response, but he hadn't realized that one was required of him. So he cleared his throat and answered the best possible answer, considering the situation.

"Yes, Ma'am."

_Perfect_.

"Very good, Mike, you may go. Jessica, thank you." And with that, they were dismissed.

I walked around to my desk, and just as I was sitting in my chair, I caught a glimpse of Newton's ass in those tight designer khakis as he was walking out the door.

_Oh yes. He'll do._

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**Disclaimer: All things "Twilight" belong to Stephanie Meyer. "Trunk Boy," however, is all mine.**


	3. Chapter 3

******WARNING: This story contains disturbing and sometimes violent material. If violence bothers you, please do not read this story.**

**

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****Chapter 3**

"_Newton_!"

Forty-five minutes ago, Mike Newton, the new intern, left to pick up my lunch from the little deli around the corner. I knew that he hadn't returned yet, but it somehow made me feel better to bark out his name every few minutes or so, demanding his immediate appearance. This was completely illogical, but it pissed off Jessica - she had to get up from her desk each time to let me know that he wasn't back yet. And anything that pissed off Jessica was a good thing. She stood in my office door, for the fourth time in the last half hour.

"He's not back yet, Miss Swan. Should I try his cell _again_?" She said this with a fake smile and a clenched jaw, overly polite and sweet. She was obviously irritated with me. I glared at her and exhaled loudly.

"Just let me know the minute he gets back. This is _unacceptable_."

She nodded once in acknowledgment and turned quickly, disappearing from my doorway. I stared at the empty space and drummed my fingers on my glass desktop, waiting.

* * *

Newton's first day had not gone well.

He arrived a few minutes before eight, obviously pleased with himself and what he thought was promptness. Jessica was waiting for him when the elevator doors opened, and, with a firm grip on his elbow, she ushered him to his desk, whispering her displeasure with him while they walked. He looked confused, not yet understanding his error. He was to be at his desk _before _I arrived each morning, Jessica reminded him, and I had arrived that particular morning at seven. I could hear all of this through my open office door, and I let myself briefly fantasize about the panicked expression on his face.

A moment later, he rushed through my door, a pastry bag in one hand and a coffee to-go cup in his other. He was talking non-stop.

"I am _so _sorry, Miss Swan, I thought I was supposed to be here for eight, to meet you, you know, like we talked about, but then I got here and Jessica… I mean, Ms. Stanley, told me that you've been here since seven and…"

He placed the bag and the cup on my desk and stepped back, still apologizing.

"… And I stopped by Krispy Kreme and got you a coffee and a couple of glazed donuts. I mean, everybody likes Krispy Kreme and …"

It went on like this for a full minute, non-stop, until he finally noticed that I hadn't said a word in response. He stopped mid-sentence and swallowed nervously. I stared at him, waiting for him to feel uncomfortable and start to squirm. That was my cue, and I was exceptionally patient.

He did not disappoint.

"The office opens at eight, Mr. Newton. But not _my _office. If you want to know what time to be here in the morning, ask." He opened his mouth to explain his actions, and I help up a hand to silence him.

"I don't drink coffee. And I don't like Krispy Kreme donuts. I actually despise Krispy Kreme donuts. If you want to know what I want for breakfast, ask." His eyes were cast downward, staring at his feet.

"I informed you yesterday of my expectations, and I have to say, I'm a little surprised that we've having this conversation so soon. How can you expect to be responsive to my needs if you don't know what my needs are?"

He looked up and started to speak, thinking he needed to provide some sort of answer. Again, I stopped him before he started.

"That was a rhetorical question, Mr. Newton."

He snapped his mouth shut and stared again at the floor, shuffling his feet like a five year old.

I was bored. I had enough of him for now, nothing left to say. I sighed heavily and dismissed him.

"You may go Mr. Newton. See Jessica about answers to the questions you have yet to ask." He turned and started out the door. "And, Mr. Newton… be available when I need you. This is not a request." He nodded and returned to his desk. I smiled to myself. He was like a puppy - eager to please, but untrained. Eager was good. Eager was _always _good. And the rest, well, I was more than willing to teach him.

He followed my instructions to the letter for the remainder of the morning, apparently taking our little talk to heart. I sent him to pick up a salad for me almost an hour ago, a ten minute trip at the most, and he had yet to return.

So much promise, and so quickly it disappeared.

I heard the ding of the elevator, then he appeared in my door, bag in hand, panic on his face. He knew he was late and that it wasn't going to be pleasant. Again, he started with the apologies.

As he stood in front of my desk blathering on about pecans and feta cheese, or the lack thereof, my mind started to wander. I imagined the flat grey color of the duct tape and how it would look against his skin, covering his mouth. The pleading look that would appear in his eyes when his ability to communicate through speech was taken away. I could tell he was one of those boys who was used to being able to talk his way out of anything, and once I removed his only weapon, he would be crippled, and completely at my mercy.

Apparently, he had stopped apologizing and was nervously awaiting my response. I snapped back to the present.

"Think, Newton. Just think, for God's sake." I stared at him for a minute, waiting for the squirm. Then I dismissed him, for the second time that day. "Now get out of my office."

He seemed shocked at my anger, my choice of words, but he quickly returned to his desk. At this rate, he would never make it to the basement. Maybe I needed to reconsider my selection, maybe he wasn't going to work. But no need to make any rash decisions. I had all the time in the world, and I had someone waiting for me, at home, at this very minute. Someone who needed my special attentions.

That thought focused me, centered me, and I was able to get back to work, concentrate on the tasks at hand. I had to keep up the façade at work, keep my status as a producer, a ball-busting, workhorse bitch, so that I could continue my extra-curriculars as I had become accustomed. This office had provided me a steady stream of the most perfect boys in desperate need of my services. They were perfect, all of them. And there had been so many. I was good at what I did.

The day proceeded without further incident from my newest intern, and he was still as his desk when I turned out my office light a little after six.

"Newton, come here."

He snapped to attention and was at my side instantaneously.

"You did good this afternoon. Keep it up." He smiled slightly, relief evident on his face. I swear to God, if he had a tail, it would have been wagging. But I couldn't have him slip into complacency. I needed him on the edge, ready for me. I lowered my chin and looked at him over the top of my glasses. "Don't fuck up again. Take this. And follow me." Again, he bristled at my choice of words, but quickly shook it off and grabbed the box that I handed him. He followed me to the elevator, not a sound out of his mouth.

As I approached my car and popped the trunk with the remote, my mind started to wander again, and I had to force myself to concentrate on the present. _Not yet_, I thought. _Patience_.

He loaded the box in my trunk, slammed it closed, and started to walk away. He turned back to me, almost an afterthought, and asked one question in a soft, hesitant voice.

"Um… seven, Miss Swan?"

_Yes_. He wanted to please me. This was good. I had to force myself not to smile. I had to keep him where I wanted him.

"Yes, Mr. Newton, seven sharp."

* * *

I drove into my garage at home, and closed the door behind me. The door to the basement was just inside the mud room, but I needed to attend to a few things in the house first. I dropped my keys on the island in the kitchen. The lights were already on - they came on every night at six on a timer. I checked my answering machine for messages, and, finding none, scooped a big cup of dry food for the cats. They begged for my attention, rubbing against my legs, but instantly abandoned me as soon as the food was in their bowl.

I turned on the small television set on the kitchen counter, carefully examined the image on the screen, and then flicked the set off, pleased with what I saw. The set was connected to an internal channel, a security camera strategically placed in the basement.

It was time.

I walked to the basement door and keyed in the security code. I heard the soft click of the lock as it released, and I listened for any movement below me. Utter silence. This was good. I knew all was well, so I was not worried. I always checked the security monitor in the kitchen before going downstairs, so that I would know what to expect. This one had been with me for a while, and he was well-behaved, knew the rules. It was actually approaching the end of his run, and I was reluctant for him to leave me. But I knew the rules too.

I reached the bottom of the stairs and saw him, sitting in the middle of the bed, waiting for me. This was my favorite moment of the day. The first few seconds were always heavy with anticipation, the fear and the hope on his face, and although I carefully orchestrated every minute of my life, there was always the sense that anything could happen.

I walked to the chair and sat, motioning to him with my finger.

"Come here, James. It's time to play."

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**Disclaimer: All things "Twilight" belong to Stephanie Meyer. "Trunk Boy," however, is all mine.**


	4. Chapter 4

******WARNING: This story contains disturbing and sometimes violent material. If violence bothers you, please do not read this story.**

**

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****Chapter 4**

_He sat in the dark car, parked just down from her house, and waited for her to come home from work. He knew her schedule - when she left in the morning, when she came home at night. He knew the route she took to get to work, what gym she belonged to, where she shopped for groceries. He had been watching her for months._

_He knew the layout of her house, inside and out. He had been inside, several months ago. It was a routine install, one of several he would do in a normal workday. Nothing special. Until he saw the lock_ _on the basement door._

_He was intrigued at first, trying to figure out why she needed such a sophisticated locking system for a basement. And he was there to install a security camera, which increased his interest. What was she storing in the basement that she needed to keep anyone from getting in? _

_It was simple curiosity at that point. A mystery that needed solving. But when he finished the install, he took a few moments to wander around the house, looking at her pictures, touching her things. He saw the same face in several photographs and assumed it was her. _

_And he fell. Hard. _

_She was beautiful. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Long, dark brown hair. Matching eyes. Pale, almost translucent skin. Older than he was by several years, but he didn't care. There was something behind her eyes, something that spoke to him. Something that told him he had found a kindred spirit. He had to know more._

_It was a while later that he asked himself the question that put everything in perspective and changed the course of his life: what was she storing in the basement that she needed to keep from getting _out_?_

* * *

**Disclaimer: All things "Twilight" belong to Stephanie Meyer. "Trunk Boy," however, is all mine.**


	5. Chapter 5

**WARNING: This story contains disturbing and sometimes violent material. If violence bothers you, please do not read this story.**

* * *

**Chapter 5**

I slept in that Saturday.

I was up late the night before, entertaining my guest, and I needed to catch up on my sleep. The bedroom was dark and cold, and it was raining outside. The perfect Saturday morning. Of course, it was 90 degrees outside, but I ran the air conditioner at 60 degrees at night, and then covered myself in layers and layers of blankets. Something about the weight on my body was comforting.

The sound of the rain reminded me of the town in which I spent my formative years - my high school years. The years where I learned how the world _really _worked, what mattered, and how to get what I wanted. It rained a lot in Forks, and these rainy mornings always brought me back.

* * *

I had a happy, normal, uneventful childhood, growing up in Phoenix with my mother, Renee. She left my father, Charlie, when I was just a baby, so I didn't really see much of him or of Forks back then. He would visit with me once a year or so, usually during the summer, and he would always take me on some nature-themed vacation. The Dude Ranch in Alabama was the single worst week of my life. I _hate _the outdoors. I always have, and, after relentless summers of being forced to commune with nature and my father, I always will.

My world was turned upside down when I was twelve. A man with a gun approached us in the mall parking lot after a long day of shopping. The man calmly asked for my mother's purse, and before she could hand it to him, he panicked, aimed for her forehead, and pulled the trigger. I was standing slightly behind her, so when the back of her head exploded, I was covered in blood, gray matter, and bits of bone. Renee was dead instantly and collapsed to the ground. There I was, about to turn thirteen, about to enter high school, and my mother, my world, was dead. The man ran off, and when the police later asked me to describe him, I couldn't remember a single detail about him.

Charlie came down for the funeral, and as soon as it was over, he helped me pack a few boxes to take back with me to Forks. It was just assumed that I would return with him and live out the rest of my life in the Pacific Northwest, away from everything I had ever known.

Most of my clothes would stay - they were too lightweight for the weather in Forks - so I packed the few long pants and long sleeved shirts I had, my favorite books, and a photo album that Renee had kept up for me.

We buried Renee on a Wednesday and flew out the next morning. By Thursday night, four days after my mother's murder, I was sitting in my new bedroom in Charlie's house.

Those first few days in Forks, I had some problems adjusting. That's what the psychologist called it, the one Charlie insisted I see. I wasn't sleeping at night, and when I did sleep, I was plagued with scream-inducing nightmares. My days were spent in a trance-like state. I would sit on the couch and stare at nothing for hours at a time.

The psychologist wasn't licensed to distribute medication, but after a closed door meeting with Charlie one afternoon, I was handed a small ziplock baggie containing only two tiny pills. _Two pills_. Charlie told me to take the pills, that they would make me feel better.

They did.

I remember nothing about the shooting, the funeral, or my first few days in Forks. I know that it happened, and I know the details from reading newspaper accounts and the police files that Charlie had copies of, but I have no memories of the actual event itself.

Those two little pills turned out to be life-altering, in more ways than one.

* * *

I finally climbed out of bed a little before noon.

I had a specific plan for the day, and I needed to get started. Today, James would be leaving me, and there was a lot to be done. I needed to focus, to concentrate.

He was a great guest, and I would truly miss him. I always felt a little sad when they left me, but it was an inevitable part of the cycle, and a non-negotiable part of the plan. I _never_ strayed from the plan, and the plan said it was time. Besides, I had Newton on deck, and I needed to spend my extra time preparing him for his stay with me.

I threw on jeans and a t-shirt, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and ran a brush through my hair. I grabbed a Coke out of the fridge and poured it over ice. I hate drinking Coke out of a can or bottle, but I love the sound when I first open the can, the carbonation releasing in a quick hiss. I stood at the kitchen counter and quickly ate a blueberry muffin so that I would have something in my stomach. It might be a while until I could take a late lunch break.

I punched in the security code on the basement door and heard the lock give. That sound, that tiny, soft sound, always gave me a thrill, a flutter in my stomach, the anticipation building. But this would not be a regular visit. This visit was strictly to prepare him to leave me. If he wasn't properly prepared, it could be disastrous for me and my way of life. I was always very careful, extremely thorough.

He was sitting in the middle of the bed, wrapped tightly in a ball of arms and legs. His long, blonde hair hung loosely around his shoulders, and his blue eyes had a vacant, distant look. He must have heard me unlock the door and walk down the stairs, but he didn't seem to know I was there. He hadn't reacted at all to my presence, which was very unusual. My guests may not always be thrilled with my nightly visits, but they always responded… in one way or another.

I stood at the foot of the stairs, unmoving, and watched him for a moment. He was beautiful, a collectible. He was shirtless, and I let my eyes travel slowly over his body, marveling at his smooth, perfect skin, his taut muscles. He was muscular, but lean, not bulky. I was suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to touch him.

So I did.

I climbed slowly onto the bed next to him. The mattress shook a little with my added weight and, although his body moved instinctively to keep balance, he continued to stare at nothing, unflinching. I touched his shoulder and ran my fingertips down his arm, so softly. Barely touching his skin. God, he felt good. I loved touching him. I often started this way, a slow exploration, feeding my need with simple skin to skin contact. As many times as I had touched him, I never grew tired of the feeling, of electricity passing between us. It always amazed and thrilled me.

I ran my hand in a slow circuit on his back. Starting at his neck, across his shoulder, down past his waist, then skimming the waistband of his sweatpants. Then back up. And repeat. It was soothing, the repetition. I lost myself in the sensation, and I let my mind wander.

Inevitably, I started to doubt my decision. This seemed to be a part of the cycle as well. I was always very sure that the time was right, that he needed to be set free, and I was resolute until my fingers touched his skin.

I started to wonder if it were possible to… _keep_ one of them. Permanently. Maybe he would grow to love me in the unique way that I loved him, and he would _want _to stay, to be with me forever. I stroked his skin and thought about the day when he would share my bed, the one upstairs, not the one in this dark, dank basement. That we would sleep together, wake up together. Go shopping, go to a movie, hold hands in public. Be _normal_.

My mind was moving quickly through endless images of our blissful future together when it happened. Something always happened to bring me back to reality. It was usually something tiny and simple, as it was now.

He blinked.

That's it. He blinked. He slowly shut his eyes and opened them back up. Something we do thousands of times a day.

But when he blinked, it seemed to have purpose, a secret meaning, a hidden agenda. It seemed to be a reaction to my touch, a rejection of me, my way of life… our future. My imagination was spinning out of control, and, just as quickly as it started, the fantasy was over. It was now obvious to me that he would never want me as I wanted him. That he could never love me as an equal. He was better than me, or he thought he was, and I repulsed him. He wanted nothing more than to be away from me, have me completely out of his life.

I took a deep breath, accepting my new fate, and scooted off the bed. I knew what I had to do. I had to follow the plan.

I pulled the small pill bottle out of my pocket and removed the cap. I shook the contents into my hand, two tiny pills, and grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-fridge. I walked back to the edge of the bed.

"James." I spoke firmly, but without anger. I was in control again, and I worked very hard to keep anger out of my relationships.

"James, look at me." He tilted his head up and met my eyes. He looked confused, unsure of what the game was, what was expected of him.

"Give me your hand." I reached out for him and tried to reassure him with the tone of my voice. I had promised him in the beginning that I wouldn't hurt him, and I wanted to make good on that promise. I had slipped up only once, and it was a long time ago, my first. I learned a lot since then, perfected my routine, fine-tuned the plan.

He didn't question my request. He placed his hand in mine, and waited. I smiled. He was well-trained. I would miss him.

"Take these pills," I said as I poured the two tiny pills into his hand. "They will make you feel better."

And they did.

* * *

**Disclaimer: All things "Twilight" belong to Stephanie Meyer. "Trunk Boy," however, is all mine.**


	6. Chapter 6

******WARNING: This story contains disturbing and sometimes violent material. If violence bothers you, please do not read this story.**

* * *

**Chapter ****6**

I had my office door closed.

I was busy.

That, however, did not seem to deter the person on the other side of the door, and once the sharp knocking started, it seemed to continue for a full minute. At a _very_ rapid pace. It could be no one other than Jessica. Christ, I hated her. I knew I could get rid of her if I wanted to... _really _get rid of her, but that's not part of the plan. Too risky.

So I waited for the knocking to stop. And I ground my teeth together while I waited. After several seconds of complete silence on both sides of the door, she simply turned the handle and opened the door. She didn't wait for me to vocalize my permission, she just waltzed in.

I glanced up at the doorway from my desk, preparing to verbally castrate her, and I was instantly frozen in my seat. She was not alone. There was a man with her, a young, beautiful man. And just looking at him for those brief seconds, well, it _did_ things to me. I knew in that microsecond that I would have him, but on my terms… always on my terms.

"_Miss Swan_?" Jessica's voice had a particular edge to it, an irritated edge. She must have called my name more than once, and I hadn't answered yet. Which was entirely possible, considering.

I blinked once, slowly, and cleared my head.

"Yes, Jessica?" I tried to sound as disconnected and bored as she expected, but he was staring intently at me, and I was unnerved. I could tell that he felt it too, whatever it was.

"Miss Swan, this is Edward Cullen, the new intern in Sales. Edward, this is Isabella Swan. Miss Swan is the Director of Project Management here at AdOne." Her introductions were always exactly the same. Same words, same cadence. Same lack of inflection, same pretense of interest. Of course, I could hardly expect more – the interns rotated through the office quickly. As soon as you learned their names, they were gone.

I got up from my desk and walked towards him.

His eyes were like daggers, piercing through mine, and still staring at me. They were a beautiful, clear green, and his dark, heavy brows were furrowed, framing his face with a combination of curiosity and intensity. I broke away from his gaze for a moment to take a better look at him, a mental inventory of this gift before me. Long, straight nose. Full lips begging to be bitten. He hadn't shaved this morning, and his square, hard jaw was covered with a day's growth of beard. Rough. Edgy. And that _hair_. Jesus. He looked like he just climbed out of bed after a long night of fucking.

He didn't look like an intern.

He didn't _dress _like an intern.

He wore a lightweight grey suit with a white dress shirt, open at the collar, no tie. He obviously had money – the suit was custom tailored and closely fit every curve and angle of his body. He was tall and lean, and that combination of clothes and body, with that open-necked shirt, was the sexiest thing I had ever seen on a man. I wanted to slowly undress him, to see what was underneath.

I noticed that he had extended his hand to greet me. I don't know how long he stood like that, his hand hanging in the air, unmatched, while I inventoried him.

"Do you prefer '_Miss'_ or '_Ms_.'?" he asked.

Jesus Christ, his _voice_. Deep, slow, and smooth. Like hot, melting butter. I wondered what he would sound like when he screamed my name. One corner of his mouth was turned up slightly as he waited for his answer. It was a straightforward question, appropriate for this situation, but something in his tone felt like a challenge. Like he was letting me know that the game had started, that he was in on the secret. It made me instantly uncomfortable.

I grabbed his hand firmly, with more force than usual, but I was trying to make a point. That I was a supervisor, and he was an intern. That I was powerful. That I was in control, and he would do anything I wanted him to do. I cleared my throat and met his eyes as I spoke.

"'_Ms_.' please... '_Miss'_ is for the girls at cotillion."

He smirked and nodded once in acknowledgement. The initial greeting was over, the words, the handshake, but I couldn't seem to let go of his hand. Something pulsed through me, from him to me, from me to him. Constantly moving and growing. I could feel it in his fingers, in the heat of his skin against mine. We were connected. We were one. It scared the shit out of me.

I dropped his hand and tried to remember what I was supposed to do next, what was expected of me. Introductions. Duties. Requirements. He would be working in the Sales department, so he would not report to me, but we shared a floor with Sales, so I would see him often. I relaxed a bit, knowing that I would see him every day.

"I assume Jessica has explained to you the requirements of the job, Mr. Cullen? Hours, duties, dress code?" I folded my arms across my chest to keep my hands from shaking.

"Yes, _Ms_. Swan, she has... Thank you." The smirk was back. His words were normal, to be expected in this situation, but again, the tone was thick with other meaning. I needed to think, to figure out what his game was, but my mind was clouded in his presence. I would have to analyze all of this later, after he left. Fuck. After he _left_. The thought of him away from me, for any amount of time, was immediately painful for some reason. Shit. Get it together Swan.

I nodded once and returned to my desk, a dismissive gesture, letting them know they were excused. Jessica immediately walked out, and Cullen turned to follow.

He had almost cleared the doorway, when he stopped and leaned back in.

"Ms. Swan?"

"Yes, Mr. Cullen?"

"I have a question about the dress code." He paused. "Khakis and a polo shirt… well, that's not really my style." He smiled, and his hand gestured down his body. I couldn't help but take another long look. He _wanted _me to. My breath caught in my throat. He was beautiful. The most beautiful boy I had ever seen. I never wanted anyone as much as I wanted him at this moment.

"Well, I hope that won't be a problem, Mr. Cullen. Jeans and t-shirts are simply unacceptable." I tried to remind myself that I was in charge, not only here in this office, but everywhere that I needed to be.

"No Ma'am," he chuckled. "No jeans or t-shirts. I'm really more of a 'dress for the job you _want' _kind of guy."

"And what job is it that you _want_?" I posed the question as seriously as I could, and he chuckled again, but with a half-smile - only one side of his mouth turned up.

"Yours, of course," he smirked and walked out the door.

I stared at the doorway for a while after he left, at the space he had just occupied, and tried to get my shit together. I couldn't think straight. My need was now uncontrollable, raging through my body like fire. It was burning in me, burning for _him_, and I needed something to help me control it, channel it.

"_Newton_! Get in here!" I tried to control my breathing. I regretted that I didn't have someone waiting for me at home at the moment, waiting for me in my basement. But Newton would have to do.

"Yes, Miss Swan?" Newton looked flustered. Like he had done something wrong, but he didn't know what it was. He stared at me with frightened eyes, waiting for the hammer to come down. I stared at him, my need building.

"See that box in the corner? I need it on my desk," I snapped.

He just stood in the doorway, a deer in headlights, and stared back at me. He was obviously expecting a thrashing, and he was confused by my command.

"_Now_, Newton!"

"Yes Ma'am!" He walked quickly to the corner and bent over to pick up the box. _Yes_. It was a small thing, but I needed it. I watched his ass as he was struggling to pick up the heavy box. I needed to see a man bent over in front of me, doing my bidding.

He picked up the box, with a considerable amount of effort, and brought it to my desk.

"Where would you like it, Miss Swan?" He grunted with the effort it was taking him to hold the box, and I enjoyed his momentary discomfort. I let him struggle for a moment before I answered.

"Right here, Newton, on my desk." He dropped the box on the corner of my desk, and exhaled loudly. Then he stood at the side of my desk, waiting. He knew better than to leave without being excused. God, I love a well-trained boy.

"Anything else, Miss Swan?"

"Yes." I looked around the room, wondering what I could make him do next. "On the top shelf," I gestured to my bookshelf. "The big green book. Get it down for me." The big green book was on the uppermost shelf, and he would have to stretch to reach it, and I wasn't entirely sure that he _could _reach it without a ladder. But I didn't want a ladder. I wanted to see him stretch.

And stretch he did.

He stood on his toes and reached both arms up to the shelf. His fingers just barely brushed the spine of the book, and he hesitated for a moment, doubting himself. He needed a little push.

"_Now_, Newton! I don't have all day!"

He flinched at the angry tone of my voice and reached up even further with his right hand, and as he did, his body twisted towards me. His neatly tucked shirt pulled out from his pants, exposing a small strip of skin just above his waistband. That's what I was hoping for. A glimpse of secret skin. And my favorite part of the male body. That strip of skin holds so much promise. There is so much that can be done with that innocent band of flesh. His skin was tanned and smooth, and hairless, except for a small line running vertically down his stomach, disappearing into the front of his pants. I wanted to touch it and lick it. I dragged my tongue across my bottom lip, imagining how his skin would taste.

At that moment, he grabbed the book, and it was over. The shirt came down, and the skin disappeared.

It was a small moment, but it worked. I felt more in control.

He brought the book to me and laid it on top of the box. He was winded, breathing fast and deep.

"Anything else Miss Swan?" he asked, hope evident on his face.

"No, Newton, that's all. You can go."

He turned quickly and walked towards the door. He was anxious to leave my office. He was almost to the hallway, when I called him back.

"Newton?"

His shoulders fell as he turned back to me. His discomfort pleased me, made me shiver a little.

"Yes, Miss Swan?" he asked.

"'_Ms.,_' Newton. Call me '_Ms._'"

* * *

**Disclaimer: All things "Twilight" belong to Stephanie Meyer. "Trunk Boy," however, is all mine.**


	7. Chapter 7

******WARNING: This story contains disturbing and sometimes violent material. If violence bothers you, please do not read this story.**

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**Chapter 7**

_He was obsessed with her._

_He sat in the dark car, watching her house, his nightly ritual, and played the day over and over in his mind. He needed to remember every word, every detail, every nuance of this day._

_He met her._

_He spoke with her._

_He _touched_ her._

_Each time he thought about the handshake - his fingers wrapped tightly around hers, skin touching skin - he lost control just a little. His eyes closed for a second or two, and he moaned softly, imagining what it would be like to touch her in other places. He started to touch himself, his pants tightening, but then he remembered where he was, and he_ _forced himself to focus._

_It didn't take him long to learn everything about her. He knew his way around a computer and had an almost endless supply of money. What information he couldn't find out on his own, he could buy. And he did._

_He studied the agency where she worked and waited for the perfect opportunity to make his move._

_After months of waiting and watching, he saw it. They were looking for a new intern, but not in her department. It was perfect. He could be near her on a daily basis, observe her, without arousing suspicion. He needed to see her in her_ _work environment, the last piece of her complicated puzzle. His endless research had yielded several theories on the possible uses for her special basement, but the more he studied her, the more he was convinced that he knew what she kept down there._

_And he was consumed by the idea that he might be right._

* * *

**Disclaimer: All things "Twilight" belong to Stephanie Meyer. "Trunk Boy," however, is all mine.**


	8. Chapter 8

******WARNING: This story contains disturbing and sometimes violent material. If violence bothers you, please do not read this story.**

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 8**

It had been a month.

A month since he started working here. Cullen, the intern.

A month of craning my neck to catch a glimpse of him in the hallway. A month of coming up with reasons to walk by his desk to see what he's wearing. A month of pretending that I'm not interested, but wanting him to notice me.

I could feel the attraction between us, growing, like a physical thing. The closer he was to me, the stronger it was. It was never like this before, not with any of my previous conquests. There was always attraction, but it was a different thing; it was about need, about fulfilling a need, a craving. This was, well, it was different, and I couldn't explain it. I was constantly wondering what it would feel like when I finally touched him.

_Damn it_. I had to get my shit together and focus. I couldn't let my mind wander off when I was at work. I knew it was because I didn't have anyone waiting for me at home at the moment, and when I was left to my own devices, I would start to get a little unfocused, the need for an outlet growing. I had Newton here at work, and I knew I'd get to him eventually, but until then...

I returned to my computer and opened a browser to do some research for the campaign I was supposed to be working on. But the damn thing wouldn't work. It opened to some crap-filled page and about a thousand popups came up. I couldn't even close the damn windows, they were coming so fast. Shit. I had zero patience for computer issues.

I grabbed the handset on my desk phone and stabbed in the five numbers to get the computer guy up here.

"Helpdesk, this is Lauren. How can I help you?" Perky. I hated perky.

"Hello Lauren. This is Isabella Swan." I was right on the edge of losing my shit and trying to hold it together. "You can help me by getting Emmett McCarty on the phone ASAP."

There was a brief moment of silence while Lauren the perky Helpdesk girl processed who I was and what I had said. Then she spoke quickly, obviously trying to get me off the phone, to transfer me to someone else so that she didn't have to deal with me. I was sure that my reputation proceeded me.

"Hold one minute Ms. Swan, I'll transfer you to Emmett."

I didn't thank her. I didn't give a shit about her, and I just wanted her to hurry up and get Emmett for me. Emmett would take care of me. Several seconds of silence passed, and then I heard his booming voice over the phone. It made me smile.

"Isabella! It's been forever! Did you miss me? What did you do to that computer now?" he teased. He was the _only_ one I let tease me.

"Emmett, my precious, how are you? Can you come up? My browser is going to some website I didn't type in, and I have a million fucking popups on my screen, and I can't shut them down."

"On my way, beautiful." I hung up the phone and leaned back in my chair, waiting.

Emmett was one of two people that I socialized with at work. He was tall and brawny, huge arms and shoulders. He had beautiful brown eyes and curly dark hair. He had dimples when he smiled. And he spoke his mind. No filter. No bullshit. He had never been a candidate for my basement. I could see that from the minute I first met him, so our friendship had never been an issue.

I assessed everyone I met on those terms, whether or not they would do well in my basement. Essentially, it was all about control. Could I control them or not? Of course, with my methods, that really didn't matter, but I really had no interest unless I felt like I could show them something. This didn't mean that I was interested in the weak-minded or the weak-bodied. On the contrary... I liked it if they resisted me, had a little fight in them. That gave me something to work with.

Just then, I heard a soft knock on the door.

"Emmett, come in, precious!"

But as the door slowly swung open, I realized it was not Emmett. It was _him_. Edward Cullen. And Jesus Christ, did he look amazing today. Of course, the first thing you saw was that hair, the messy, just crawled out of bed look. Then I noticed his clothing, and how it hung on his perfectly muscled body. He always wore the best clothes, designer brands, and he wore everything like it was cut specifically for him. Today, it was a gray cashmere pullover with a white tee underneath and black, flat front pants. Flat front, no pleats. I hated pleats. And they were tight on him. Not disgustingly, perverted tight. Just well-fitted. I felt like I could see his naked body underneath his clothing, it all fit him so perfectly. An image quickly flashed through my head - Cullen, naked and bound on my bed, those sinewy muscles rippling as he pulled at his bindings, begging me with his eyes...

It took me a second to gather myself. But he spoke first.

"Precious? No," he smirked. "It's just me, Ms. Swan. But I'll answer to any name you want." And with that, he leaned casually against the door jamb, smiling at me like he just ate the fucking canary.

I had to actually clear my throat before I began speaking, and I hated that. It let him see something about me that I didn't want him to see.

"Mr. Cullen. I was expecting someone from the IT department. I'm having computer issues." I ignored the "precious" remark. No need to go there.

"Oh yeah?" With that, he started to walk into my office, towards my desk. "I know a little something about computers, maybe I can take a look." He was still walking towards my desk, always so damn confident. My self-control was eroding, the closer he got. God, the way his body looked when he moved...

"Really, Mr. Cullen, it's not necessary. I have someone on their way up right now, but thank you anyway."

But he would not be deterred. He walked around my desk and stood _right next to me_, almost touching. I could _smell_ him, God, help me. He smelled clean and dirty at the same time, like shampoo and sex.

He leaned over to look at my computer screen. He was literally inches away from my skin. At this distance, the physical pull was almost too strong to resist. I sat back in my chair, my eyes running down his body, bent in half over my desk. _Bent in half. Fuck. _Oh my God, the shit that started running through my brain, the things I wanted to do to him...

"I see what's going on here," he purred. He spoke softly, almost seductively. I couldn't tell if he was talking about my computer issues or about my current state of mind. I couldn't speak. I could only listen and watch.

He leaned in further and moved his hands to the keyboard, tapping away furiously. Windows whizzed by on my monitor, opening and closing, and he continued to type.

My eyes were frozen to the keyboard, however. To his hands. To his fingers, which I had never really seen before, close up like this. Long, beautiful fingers. Masculine fingernails, but well-groomed. But those fingers. They moved with such grace, such fluidity. My mind was trapped in fantasies of those fingers and what they were doing. What they _could_ do.

"Okay, you're all done." He was still leaning down over my desk in that fantasy-inspiring position, but he had turned his head to look at me when he spoke, and the smirk was back. So damned sexy. "You had some spyware on your computer. It was redirecting your browser to an infected URL and had installed another malware program which was causing your popups." I sat up to pretend to look at what he was showing me.

He was talking. I knew he was talking, but I couldn't process the words. I couldn't stop looking at him. At the hard, rippling muscles of his back underneath that soft, grey sweater. At his ass, bent over in supplication on my desk, the tight, black fabric leaving little to my imagination. At his face, the hard, square jaw, roughly unshaven. At his lips, full and pursed and smirking at me, presently. I stared at his mouth, lost in my own mind yet again, in possibilities. I wanted to touch him so fucking badly that my fingers were actually twitching. But a loud, booming voice brought me back to reality.

"Well, well, well! What do we have here? Am I interrupting something? Should I leave you two alone?" Emmett was standing at my door, _laughing_, looking at us hunched over my desk, faces inches apart.

Cullen turned to look at Emmett, still smirking, and stood up, inches from me. This close, I could feel the heat coming off of his body. That pull was so strong, I knew I would not be able to walk away from it, so I was thankful that he was the one who would have to do it. And he did. But first, he touched me. A simple gesture, his fingertips grazing the bare skin of my forearm, but it set me on fire. The look on his face confirmed that he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

"I was just leaving," he grinned, looking from me to Emmett, then back, and started walking to the door. He turned back and looked at me. "Let me know if you need anything else... _Ms_. Swan." And with that open invitation, he slipped out the door.

Emmett watched him walk out, still laughing, and then plopped himself into the guest chair in front of my desk.

"So, you gonna tell me who your boyfriend is?"

I was still reeling from having Cullen right next to me, leaning over my desk, _touching me_, and now I had to deal with Emmett fucking with me. I hated that he said that kind of shit to me, that he thought he could get away with it (because he could) and I loved it (because he could), all at the same time. If anyone else spoke to me the way Emmett did, they would know the sticky pull of duct tape.

"Emmett, shut the fuck up. That's just some intern who walked by." I leaned back in my chair and caught my second wind. "But he just did your job for you, so maybe you should get off your ass a little faster in the future. Don't let those young ones lap you, boy."

He threw his head back and laughed loudly, slapping his hand on his leg.

I looked at Emmett, sitting in my chair laughing, and I tried to remember if there had ever been another human being in my past who I could laugh with like this. Not anyone from high school, that's absolute.

* * *

I started my high school experience at Forks High. Small town, small school, small mentality. I thought it

might be good for me. I could reinvent myself. I thought it would be small enough that I could finally rise to the top, run the show. Develop friendships for life.

But oh, how wrong I was.

These kids had known each other since birth. Literally. And their _parents_ had known each other since birth. And their _grandparents_ had known each other since birth. You get the idea. There were no outsiders in this school, nor in this town. Their lives were mapped out years ago, and nothing was going to change their plans.

I tried at first. I joined clubs, I ran for offices, but nothing changed. They kept their circle closed tightly and refused to let me in. Eventually, I realized that it was useless, and I stopped trying, doing my time, waiting for my moment. I was smart. Pretty, but quiet, and I kept to myself, so I got no attention from the popular boys. You know the ones I'm talking about... mindless lemmings, taking turns following each other around, all dressed alike. The more I watched them, the popular boys flirting with the popular girls, the more angry and disgusted I became. I started lapsing into elaborate fantasies in which I had these boys at my mercy, and I was in control, delivering punishments for their behavior. It was glorious. It was the beginning of the new me, the butterfly inside the cocoon, waiting to be released.

But it was all fantasy.

_Then_.

I faded into the background, and if you mentioned my name today to anyone in my high school graduating class, not a single one would remember me. (Well, except for Fig, and that was only because he needed something.)

That bothered me at the time, but my academics were strong, and I received several scholarship offers, including a full scholarship to Tulane University in New Orleans. I picked New Orleans because it was the farthest away, in so many ways, from Forks, Washington, and I would have another opportunity to start over.

Since then, I found a way to rechannel my aggression and frustration in a way that satisfied me completely. My life was perfect, exactly what I always wanted. I had finally become the beautiful butterfly I always knew I could be.

* * *

Emmett finally left my office after shooting the shit for a few minutes, catching up on our lives (which unfortunately involved him telling me all about his latest conquest, a gorgeous blonde Amazonian), and extracting a promise from me to have lunch with him and Alice very soon. Alice was the only other person here that I socialized with. She was a copywriter for the company, and she was different. I didn't let them _in_, but over the years, I had developed a side of me which I allowed to interact with the two of them in a socially acceptable manner. It helped with the overall image I was trying to project. It helped to keep me doing what I loved best, what I was good at, what I needed.

I returned to my computer, now working properly thanks to Cullen, and I opened a browser to continue my research. I found that I needed a distraction while I worked, so I opened up Windows Media Player and launched one of my favorite playlists. The music started playing, and I relaxed. I felt like I was on solid footing for the first time that day.

I was able to work for a while before I sensed that Cullen had walked by my office door, and I tensed up for just a moment, waiting. But the moment passed, and I returned my focus to my computer screen.

Seconds later, I noticed that he had returned, and he was standing in my doorway, leaning against the jamb in the most alluring way, hands in his pockets, pulling the fabric of his pants even tighter. I looked up with a question on my face, not daring to try to speak yet. He did this to me. Every fucking time.

"It's so erotic when your makeup runs," he said softly when our eyes met, almost a whisper. I got caught up for a moment in the sound of his voice, the movement of his lips, but then I realized what he said, and I recovered quickly.

"Excuse me?" I was shocked and pissed, and I wanted an explanation. How could he possibly think he could get away with saying shit like that to me?

"Porcupine Tree. _Blackest Eyes_," he said, as if it was some sort of explanation. I was still looking at him like he was insane. He processed the look on my face and grinned. "The _song_. The song that's playing on your computer right now, _Blackest Eyes_."

I realized in that moment what he was talking about, and I stood down, at least for the moment. But it was still inappropriate, so I started to verbally admonish him, but again, he spoke first.

"Serial killer. Kidnapper van. Hidden trophies from previous vics. Nice." And with that, he winked at me and walked coolly out the door. He winked. He fucking _winked_ at me.

I was so fucked.

* * *

**Porcupine Tree is indeed my favorite band (actually, tied for first with Muse) and **_**Blackest Eyes**_**is one of my favorite songs. And that line is one of my favorite lines. So I was glad to get it in a story and shared with others. Go look it up on Youtube. Hope you enjoy as well.**

******Disclaimer: All things "Twilight" belong to Stephanie Meyer. "Trunk Boy," however, is all mine.**


	9. Chapter 9

**WARNING: This story contains disturbing and sometimes violent material. If violence bothers you, please do not read this story.**

**

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****Chapter 9**

Newton had worked here for three months now. His internship would end when the school semester ended, so I didn't have much time left. I needed to start my preparations. It gave me something to focus on, something to channel my energies into until I could use them elsewhere.

I was so tightly wound right now. It had been so long since I had someone to play with, and I was desperately needing some interaction. This thing with Cullen wasn't helping, either. It was almost as if he had control over _me_, and that couldn't happen. I would never allow it.

Distractions. Right.

"_Newton_!"

He was in my office in seconds, standing in front of my desk, waiting for orders. Damn, that boy responded well. He was going to be _so_ good. I wanted him now, but I couldn't rush the timeframe. I had to wait until the semester ended, when the internship ended. I had to follow the plan.

"Yes, Miss Swan? I mean... sorry... _Ms_. Swan?" He always looked so guilty when I called him, as if he was expecting punishment for something. Deep breath. I stared at him for a moment, letting my eyes roam over his body. He didn't seem to notice that I was blatantly looking at him, or he didn't care. He was wearing his usual uniform, the rich college boy standard, the same thing he wore on his first day, but that was okay. Soon enough, his clothing would no longer be an issue. But that body underneath the clothes, that was a different story. I'd had several glimpses of strong upper arms and my special favorite, that flat, toned stomach. It was enough to work with, for now.

"Newton, I need you to organize that bookshelf for me today." I gestured to the large bookshelf which spanned the entire length of my left wall. "I received some more items from Research today, and I need them alphabetized and shelved."

He just stood there, staring at me. Good Lord, hadn't we gotten past that yet? I'd give him some fucking incentive...

"_Now_, Newton!" I roared at him. "I want this done by COB, and if it's _not_ done, you can stay until it _is_ done, and I don't care if it takes you all fucking night!"

That seemed to do the trick. He gulped loudly, and I thought he might have winced a little from the tone of my voice. He immediately moved to the boxes on the floor and started going through them.

"Oh, Newton, one more thing. Some of those books are old and rather dusty. You might want to take off that expensive shirt you're wearing and just wear your T-shirt. I'm not paying for damage to a designer shirt." I said this with disinterest, but what I really wanted was for him to strip down to his tee shirt, for my own private viewing.

He didn't seem to think twice about it, stood, and pulled his polo shirt over his head. As he did, the tee he was wearing underneath rode up quite a bit, and I got to see more of his glorious hidden skin. Flat, tanned, toned stomach. That line of hair. It was like he was in a movie and he was moving in slow motion. Watching that shirt crawl slowly up his body, exposing more skin than I could have hoped for, then a quick toss of his hair after the shirt was off.

This was going to be a good day.

* * *

I loved New Orleans.

When I first came here, I was a little nervous. The only time that I had ever moved to a new city (other than when I was a baby) was when my mother was murdered, so I was unsure how I would react to so much change again.

But I embraced it. I embraced everything _because_ it was different. It was nothing I had seen before. And I discovered the most important thing of all: I was completely anonymous here. No one knew me. I could be whoever I wanted to be here, and this city was the perfect place to help me find out who that was.

I was initially drawn to the French Quarter, the center of all debauchery in the city, and I walked the streets, alone at night, looking for something that would make me _feel_.

The first time I saw the BDSM club, I stood outside, just staring in wonderment at the small sign. I couldn't believe that a place like that could actually exist. Just then, the door opened as a couple walked out, and I got a glimpse inside. I was shocked. It looked just like a regular bar on a Saturday night. People milling about, talking, drinking, no whips or chains in sight. The bouncer at the door saw me and tried to convince me to go inside, but I was petrified, and I ran off, my heart thudding loudly in my chest. I didn't know if I was more scared or excited.

I obsessed about that club the entire week. I couldn't think of anything else. I went back, that next Saturday, and I went in.

For weeks, I sat alone in that club, slowly sipping my drink, just watching. I found that if you knew what you were watching for, you could see it. Singles looking for singles. Couples looking for couples. Couples looking for singles. Everyone was just trying to find the same thing that I was looking for... an outlet, a release, a connection, something that felt _right_. Each week, I would return to my dorm room, alone, and work up elaborate fantasies involving young, preppy men in various stages of submissiveness before me. The fantasies became more explicit and intense as the weeks went by. And then I met Ben.

He was alone at the bar, but looking around, scouting the place for his ride home that night. He had a young face, but he was obviously of age, or the bouncer wouldn't have allowed him in. He had that trust fund look to him... well-groomed, nice clothes, very non-descript. Not like some of the men in here, with their leather and piercings. We made eye contact, and he smiled at me. I smiled back, nervously.

I told myself I was just watching, that nothing would happen. But then, he walked up to my table, introduced himself, and asked me the question that changed me forever.

"Hi, I'm Ben. Do you want to play?"

I was frozen in my seat, looking at this boy in front of me, asking me, basically, if I wanted to have sex with him, and not just sex, but he wanted me to _dominate_ him. I tried to compose myself, to look confident, like I knew what I wanted. And I _did_ want this, even if I had no idea what I was doing.

"Hi Ben, I'm Isabella. And yes, I'd love to play with you." I crossed my legs and leaned back in my seat. "You can start by getting me another drink."

He smiled at me, lowered his eyes, backed away a few steps, then turned to the bar to get my drink.

I lost my virginity that night in a submissive fantasy.

* * *

It was after seven and dark outside when Newton finally finished working on my bookshelf. His white tee-shirt, no longer white, was sticking to his sweat-covered torso. His perfectly styled hair was in disarray and clinging to his foreheard. I barely got any work done. I wanted to touch him so badly, to feel my fingers slide across his slick skin. I was starting to count the days until I could take him.

He stood and faced me, sweaty and dirty, and God help me.

"That's the last book, Ms. Swan. I think I'm done." He shifted nervously, and cleared his throat. "I mean, I'm done with the books, is there anything else you need today?" He quickly realized his error and corrected himself. Very nice.

I was just about to tell him what I needed carried down to my car when Cullen appeared in my doorway.

"Working late?" He was standing in my doorway again, smirking, always smirking. And then he saw Newton in the corner, pulling his shirt over his head, and fuck if he didn't laugh out loud. I swear to God, I'm going to wipe that smirk off of his face one day and enjoy the hell out of it. But I still felt the need to explain to him, for some reason.

"Not that it's any of your business, Mr. Cullen, but Newton and I were just finishing up here." I stood as I said this, trying to gain back control back of this situation.

"Oh, I bet you were," he said in a suggestive tone and the smirk reappeared. He looked from me to Newton, then back at me. Something about the look on his face changed a little, and I couldn't quite figure out what was different.

"Mr. Cullen, don't you have somewhere to be? Some photocopying, perhaps?" I tried to pick the activity that I thought he would find most demeaning. He was obviously very intelligent, and over-qualified for this job. I had to wonder why he was even working here. I noticed that his jaw was clenched and the muscles there were twitching. His arms were crossed against his chest and his hands were in fists. He looked almost angry. And Jesus Christ, very fucking hot. I gathered my things, my purse, my briefcase, and walked to the front of my desk, trying to ignore him and what he did to me.

"Newton, grab that box for me and bring it down to my car. Let's go." Newton reacted quickly this time and was standing behind me in seconds, ready to walk out. But Cullen was blocking the door, seething.

"Mr. Cullen, excuse us, if you don't mind."

"Actually, I was leaving as well. I'll walk out with you." And just that quickly, his expression changed again, back to the over-confident smirk. He stood to the side, to allow us to exit the office doorway, Newton quick on my heels, like a well-trained puppy. Cullen stepped to my side as we were walking, placing himself in an elevated position over Newton. It's like he was using not-so-secret body language to tell me that he was my equal and not a lackey like Newton.

As we were riding down in the elevator, he actually tried to small talk me. Newton was standing behind us.

"So, _Ms_. Swan, big plans tonight? Anything interesting?" He looked at Newton as he said this and stressed the "Ms." when he used my name, like it was a joke to him. It was really starting to piss me off. I couldn't believe he had the balls to ask me about my personal life, especially in front of Newton! But being locked inside a very tiny room with him, albeit an elevator, even for this short amount of time, was completely killing my self control, and that physical pull to him was currently considerably stronger than my anger. I couldn't quite speak yet, as much as I wanted to rip off a quick retort and cut him to the quick. Instead, I found myself staring at his mouth right at the exact moment that he licked his lips, dragging his tongue slowly and with purpose. It was that movie slow-mo again. He knew I was watching, I realized, and I looked up to meet his eyes, full of lust and anger and jealousy.

_Jealousy_. That was the emotion I was missing earlier when he was standing in my doorway watching Newton pull his shirt on. He was teasing me, but he was actually jealous of Newton. Interesting.

The elevator opened, and I walked to my car, Newton and Cullen in tow. I hit the remote to pop the trunk, and Newton lowered the box in and started to close the lid.

"Newton, push that box further in. I don't want it to slide around while I'm driving."

He leaned deeper into the trunk and pushed the box to the back. He was halfway in the trunk already. It would be so easy...

My mind wandered for a second. It was getting harder and harder to maintain control without an outlet. But then I snapped back to the present. Cullen was looking at me. I realized he had been watching me the entire time Newton was putting the box in the trunk. He was looking at me as if he knew something, like he was in on the secret - that same expression he had when we first met.

Newton stood up and turned to me.

"Like that, Ms. Swan?" He looked hopeful. I wanted to pet him and give him a treat.

"Yes, Mr. Newton." I smiled to let him know I was pleased with him. "Just like that. That's all. You may go. Good night." Once he received his dismissal, he wasted no time and walked quickly to his car.

Cullen, however, was still standing next to me, staring at me. We were alone in a dark garage, no one else around. A moment passed between us. And although no words were spoken, we both understood. He wanted me. I wanted him. It was all clear now. But I wasn't sure he realized what the terms were. That could change his opinion of me.

"May I go as well, Ms. Swan?" he said softly, so softly I could barely hear him.

"Yes, Mr. Cullen. You may go." He looked at me intently, trying to read me, to figure out what I was thinking. So I gave him something to think about. "For now."

With that, the smirk returned briefly. Then he lowered his eyes, backed away a few steps, and turned to walk away.

* * *

**Disclaimer: All things "Twilight" belong to Stephanie Meyer. "Trunk Boy," however, is all mine.**


	10. Chapter 10

**WARNING: This story contains disturbing and sometimes violent material. If violence bothers you, please do not read this story.**

* * *

**Chapter 10**

_He found another one tonight._

_Another one of her interns, former employees, past-tense._

_He was fascinated by her, obsessed. He watched her at work, how she interacted with her co-workers. He thought he saw through her, through the image she projected. _

_He watched her especially closely with the blonde boy. She claimed him with her actions, made him belong to her. He watched how she manipulated the boy, how she changed him since he started working for her. He watched her in the garage, watching the boy, the look of feral need on her face. This upset him. He wanted her to look at_ him _that way, not the blonde._

_He heard the stories of her previous interns, how they disappeared shortly after leaving her employ. He tracked them down, one by one, desperate to uncover more of her secrets. _

_And he discovered a chilling fact: they all had the same story. _

Exactly _the same._

_Every. _

_Single. _

_Detail._

"I had a great time on my trip to (insert city here). The food was so good! My favorite was the (insert food here). And the nightlife was HOT! I met this girl, (insert name here) and we've been emailing ever since. It was a great experience. I'm so glad I went."

_He had all the pieces of the puzzle that was Isabella Swan. He just had to put it together. He thought he knew who she was and what she wanted._

_And he planned to give it to her._

* * *

**Disclaimer: All things "Twilight" belong to Stephanie Meyer. "Trunk Boy," however, is all mine.**


	11. Chapter 11

**WARNING: This story contains disturbing and sometimes violent material. If violence bothers you, please do not read this story.**

* * *

**Chapter 11**

I just... watched him walk away.

The parking garage was dark and cold and deafeningly quiet. The only sound was the pounding of blood in my ears. What the _hell_ just happened? What did he know? What did he _want_?

I couldn't move. I just stood there, staring into the darkness, watching the black emptiness where he was standing only seconds before. I kept replaying the scene over and over in my head. The want in his voice. The need in his eyes. The secret surrender in his steps. When he bowed his head and stepped back, wordlessly submitting himself to me, I was overcome with emotion. I wanted him. Jesus, how I wanted him.

The problem was, I didn't know _what_ I wanted from him.

He was different, not like the others. Yes, I wanted to possess him and control him, like I did with them, but I wanted more. I just needed to figure out what that "more" was.

I don't know how long I stood there, but I eventually climbed into the car, drove home, and found myself pulling into my garage. I don't know how I got home. I don't remember anything about the drive, but my head seemed to clear when I pulled up to my house. Maybe it was familiar surroundings.

I walked into the house and threw my keys on the island in the kitchen. It was so quiet. I looked at the television monitor on the counter and felt a wave of anxiety course through me. There was no reason to turn it on, nothing to see. My basement was achingly empty.

I poured myself a brandy and downed it in one swift motion. As the harsh burn of the liquor grew in my chest, I poured and downed another one, but then quickly returned the bottle to the cabinet before I drank myself into a coma. Of course, that's probably what I needed right now, to be lulled into an unnaturally-induced stupor. The more I thought about it, the better that idea sounded, and I decided to throw a little gasoline on my fire. I grabbed the bottle of Lortab from my purse and quickly swallowed two, with another shot of brandy. This was shaping up to be an _outstanding_ evening.

I held the snifter tightly, warming the amber liquid with the heat from my hands. I brought the glass to my nose, closed my eyes, and inhaled deeply. The scent was delicious and inviting, and it made my fingertips tingle. Or maybe it was the two glasses of brandy. Or the third glass of brandy. Or the Lortab.

I had tried to keep Cullen out of my head, but my ability to control my thoughts was eroding in direct proportion to the increasing effect of the brandy and the pills. I wanted to touch him. I wanted to taste him. I wanted to do so many things to him.

I found myself standing in front of the basement door. I unlocked the door and walked carefully down the creaking wooden stairs. The bed was empty, stripped of sheets. It looked painfully naked in the small room. I sat down on the edge of the bed and ran my trembling fingers across the satiny pillowtop. It felt smooth and slick, like sweaty skin. I was losing my edge along with a tenuous grasp on my self-control.

I thought of the last boy who had shared my secret basement bed, James. And then I thought of the first, Paul, so many years ago. I was just figuring out who I was then and what I wanted. He was my experiment, my self-initiation.

* * *

It all started, of course, with Ben. Ben was my first, in so many ways. He was my first lover, and he introduced me to a sexual world that I didn't know existed.

New Orleans was freeing to me. I didn't really remember living in Phoenix, other than the small world my mother had created for me before her death. School, sleepovers with friends, watching movies on the couch, playing in the sprinkler in the summer while my mother worked in the garden. I had no concept of how big the city was, I just knew that I was happy in the parts of it that touched my life.

But I remembered Forks. In _great_ detail.

I remembered the lack of privacy, the lack of culture, the lack of open-mindedness. Just... the _lack_. Everyone knew everyone else. Everyone knew your business. I was established in their minds before they even met me - I was stamped as Chief Swan's daughter, the girl who was standing so close to her mother when she was murdered, that she was covered in blood and other bodily fluids. It made me a freak, a side-show attraction. I could never erase that image from everyone's minds, and I would forever be labeled. I could never escape it. I never had a chance in Forks. I was doomed before my plane landed on the tarmac in Port Angeles.

But New Orleans... A big, beautiful city, teeming with culture and people and anonymity. For the first time in my life, I felt hope, hope that I could be somebody. I could be _anybody_. I just had to figure out who I wanted to be.

My relationship with Ben was the beginning of that discovery.

It was kind of funny, actually. I never had a boyfriend growing up, so I didn't really know what to expect. I would look forward to my weekends in the French Quarter, to seeing Ben, like a giggling schoolgirl. Looking back on it now, I realized that he was not my boyfriend, not in any sense of the word, but at the time, I didn't know any better. I thought about him every waking minute, and each week I would count down the days until Saturday would arrive, carefully applying my makeup, fixing my hair, to please Ben.

At night, when the lights were off in my dorm room and my roommate was asleep, I would allow myself to remember the hours we had spent in his apartment, "playing," as he called it. I would stroke myself, under the covers, as I replayed the events in my head. I would recall actual events, things that had occurred between Ben and me the previous week. But as I became more and more aroused, the thoughts in my head would transform from memory to fantasy, and I discovered a darker, twisted part of me: the last thought before I climaxed, every single time, was of Ben screaming for mercy... _my_ mercy. And not roleplay screaming. _Real_ screaming.

At that moment, I would come, and come hard. I would have to cover my face with a pillow so that my roommate wouldn't hear me moan and pant.

I would lay in my tiny dorm bed, covered in sweat and tingling from head to toe, and the guilt would suddenly overwhelm me. I would barely allow myself to enjoy my self-induced orgasm before the questions started. _What was wrong with me? Why did I have these horrible fantasies? When would I be normal?_

I continued to deny what I really wanted, and every Saturday night, Ben and I would play our little games. It was a vicious cycle... anticipation, arousal, release, guilt, denial. Never forgiveness. Never acceptance. I never allowed myself to try to understand what was happening to me. I would simply bury these feelings, pretend they didn't exist.

My senior year, I was assigned an internship at a local advertising agency. It was a small company at the time, but it had a great reputation, and it was quite a coup to be assigned there. I was _ecstatic_. Finally, all of my hard work, the term papers, the studying, the late nights at the library, all of that was about to pay off, and I would be recognized and appreciated for what I could contribute.

I walked into the office on my first day, dressed in the only business suit I owned, determined to stand out.

And stand out I did.

It was like high school all over again. There were ten of us, the senior interns, but they all knew each other. And for _years_, apparently, some all the way back to high school or earlier. The boys were all dressed alike, khakis and polo shirts and boat shoes with no socks. The girls were dressed alike as well, although some had khaki skirts instead of pants. They wore twinsets and pearls and penny loafers with no socks. It was like I had missed some secret memo about dress code.

Actually, I felt more excluded than that. It felt more like they were members of a club, a club which had denied me access. I was once again the outsider, looking in.

We were all gathered in the main conference room, waiting for the president of the company to give us the standard "you can make a difference if you work hard" speech. It would be the first and last time we ever saw him. Everyone was animatedly chatting away, catching up on summer vacations and the latest gossip. I found myself thinking about Ben, about what _I_ had been doing over the summer, and I wondered what they would think about _that_.

That's when I realized that they were whispering. And stealing quick glances at me over their shoulders. And snickering. They were not terribly subtle, and I guess they never had to be. They always got what they wanted, and they looked down their noses at anyone who was different. It made them feel better about who they were. Or maybe who they weren't.

"... that ridiculous little _suit_!..."

"... where's her _briefcase_?..."

"... a whole year, stuck with _that_?..."

All the old feelings rushed back, the inadequacy, the humiliation, the anger. I had worked so hard since I came to this city, to remake myself, to become someone new, someone powerful, someone in control. And it all seemed to disappear after spending a few minutes trapped in a room with some interns.

The president finally arrived, and everyone quieted down. There were still hushed giggles here and there, but his presence in the room was commanding, and we instantly feared him and respected him. I decided right then that that was what I wanted: to be feared and respected. I was in awe of him.

He started his speech, pretty standard stuff, except that I was imagining how I would feel when it was _me_ giving the speech, scaring the interns into submission. I smiled.

During the course of his speech, however, he called some of the interns by their first names, which confused me. We were all here for the first time, how did he know their names? As he spoke, he referenced some of their parents, by their first names, and it all clicked into place. He knew them. He knew their parents. Mommy and Daddy got them the job. I felt pretty confident that I was the only one here who had actually earned their placement, and I'm sure I would have to work twice as hard to keep it.

Now I knew where I stood. I knew what I was dealing with. The rose colored glasses were off, and I was looking at the world as it truly was, not how I wanted it to be.

The first week went by quickly. I had scheduled all of my classes in the mornings so that I could work the afternoons at the agency. I would stay late each evening, after all of the others had gone, learning what I could, offering assistance to anyone who needed it. I was determined to prove myself, and to show everyone that I was better than the polos and khakis set.

By the time Saturday night arrived, however, I was ready for a distraction. I had so much pent up frustration and anxiety from my first week at work, and I needed Ben to help me release it. I called him and told him I would meet him at his apartment, not at the club. I needed to quickly get down to business, and I didn't have the time or patience for games this week.

When I arrived at his apartment, I stood at the door and just listened for a moment. It was quiet inside, as it should have been. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I was in control here. This was my world now. I knocked softly on the door. If he was doing what he was supposed to be doing, he wouldn't be able to answer. So I waited.

Nothing. No movement. No sound. _Excellent_.

I used my key and opened the door.

The lights were off, but there were several candles scattered around the room, giving it an eerie glow. Ben was in the middle of the room, kneeling, sitting back on his heels. His hands were clasped behind his back, his eyes cast to the floor.

He was completely naked.

_Perfect_.

I shut the door behind me and turned the deadbolt. I dropped my bag and my keys on the small table by the window, and I walked slowly around Ben, assessing him from every angle.

"Good... very good," I murmured softly. He shivered slightly as I ran a finger across his bare shoulders, but he didn't move or make a sound.

"Up," I directed him. "Up on your feet."

He did as he was told and stood in the middle of the room, eyes still on the floor. I moved until I was directly behind him and whispered in his ear.

"Ben, sweetheart. I've had a really tough week. I'm afraid I have some frustrations that I need to work out. And you're going to help me." My hands were resting on either side of his waist and I slid them forward until I could stroke his hard, flat abdomen. He sucked in a small breath, but otherwise remained quiet. I ran my tongue along his ear and then down his neck.

"Mmm..." I murmured in his ear. "You taste so good..." He was mine, and I could do whatever I wanted to him. I loved that feeling, that I owned him, that I controlled him, that he belonged to me and me alone. I slid my hands up his chest and brushed across his nipples with the pads of my fingers. He moaned a little. Very softly, but I could hear it. I pinched this time, a little harder, and he gasped.

"Yes... you like that, don't you? I know I do," I sighed and I ran my tongue between his shoulder blades as I gave his nipples another hard squeeze. "Give me what I need tonight, sweetie, and I'll give you a special reward. I know _just_ want you want..."

He was fully aroused now, it never took him very long. Of course, he was half-hard when I walked in the door. Something about being completely naked, on your knees, waiting for your Mistress to arrive.

"Go on in the bedroom and wait for me on the bed, on your back. I'll be right there." I slapped him on the ass as he walked away, and it made the most wonderful noise. I would have to remember to do that again. Tonight. Repeatedly.

I gave him a minute to get positioned, and I grabbed my bag from the table and walked into the bedroom.

_Jesus_. That sight still made me hot. He was naked and laying on his back, arms reaching above his head, legs spread wide. I dropped my bag on the dresser and start rifling through it, looking for all the toys I would need. I could see him in the mirror, waiting for me. I glanced at the chair next to his bed where he had undressed, his clothes neatly folded.

I froze.

He had been wearing a pair of khaki pants and a pink polo shirt. The uniform of my enemy. It evoked in me every bad feeling that I had that week. All of the frustration, the inadequacy, the anger, it all came rushing back at once. Everything changed. It was like I had one of _them_ in front of me right now, one of them finally under my control.

"Flip over. On your stomach. _Now_." He hesitated, just for a second, confused about the change of plans. I, however, was not confused about what I wanted, and I began to bind him to the bed, face down, before he finished turning.

His arms were pulled straight over his head, wrists crossed, and secured to the headboard. His legs were spread wide, each ankle cuffed to a corner of the bed. He was bound in such a way that movement would be difficult for him, if not impossible. This was exactly what I wanted.

I grabbed the leather strap from my bag, and stood at the foot of the bed, breathing hard, and admiring my handiwork. Fuck if he didn't look delicious tied up like that, completely helpless. I knew his fate was completely in my hands, and that feeling of power was coursing through me like a drug, like nothing I had felt before. Whatever this was, I wanted it. I needed it.

I hadn't even started yet, and I was out of control already. I knew that I should untie him and walk out the door before I did something that I regretted, but all I could hear were the snickers of my fellow interns from earlier that day. And he was here. They weren't.

The strap came down with a loud and satisfying crack.

Harder than I intended, yes, but there was no turning back for me now.

He gasped and fliched, pulling at his bindings. He looked confused, unsure what he had done to warrant such a severe punishment, but what could I tell him? _Sorry Ben, but you just fucking wore the wrong clothes today._

I brought the strap down again.

_God,_ that sound.

Again.

_Fuck_, that was hot. His ass was coloring up, a nice warm shade of pink. I had never been this excited before, the throbbing,wet ache between my legs growing with each strike.

Again. And again. And again.

I was moaning now, desperate for release. Ben was crying. The more he cried, the harder I hit. I was enjoying his pain like I never had before.

I was in some sort of trance, an out of body thing. But I kept going. Each crack of the belt empowered me, made me stronger, more confident. I had never known exactly what I needed until now.

Ben was screaming.

"RED! RED! _Please_ Miss Swan, _please stop_!" It took me a moment to process what he was saying. My arm kept swinging, never stopping. He was begging now, his face covered in tears, full of pain, and anger, and... fear. He was _afraid_ of me... And I liked it.

RED. The safeword. He was screaming the safeword, and I hadn't stopped. Damn it. What had I done? _Jesus_!

I dropped the strap to the floor and sat on the bed next to Ben. He flinched away from me, his eyes wide with terror. He was trying to pull away from me, but his bindings wouldn't allow it.

"Shhhh... Ben, it's okay, it's over now. Shhhh." I stroked his hair and tried to speak in a calming voice, but he didn't trust me, and why should he?

"Calm down, baby, shhhh. Relax and hold still, and I'll untie you." That seemed to register with him on some level, and he quit trying to squirm away from me. He looked like he was barely keeping it together. I was hoping he would stay calm, accept what had happened, and move on.

I grabbed a bottle of cooling skin salve from my bag and showed it to him. "I'm going to rub some of this on your backside." He flinched and hissed a little, trying to pull away again.

"No, no, no, this will feel good, I promise, it's very soothing, very cooling. It will make you feel better, heal faster. Please..."

He didn't say yes, but he didnt say no either. He just held very still, bracing for whatever else might be coming. I unscrewed the lid and covered both hands in generous amounts.

I sat on my knees between his legs and touched my hands to his red, raw backside. I could feel the heat coming off the skin the closer I got. I kept my touch light, and spread the cooling lotion across his skin in a soothing circular motion. He winced at first, the icy cold of the lotion warring against the white hot heat of his skin, but after a few seconds, he relaxed, feeling the pain melting away. The same hand that had given him the pain was now taking it away. This was not lost on him.

After a few more minutes of aftercare, I felt that he had calmed significantly, and I removed his feet from the ankle cuffs, one at a time. I rubbed some more of the salve on each ankle, where the cuff had rubbed, and then his hips, sore from being held open for so long.

I finally reached his wrists, and as I released him from the headboard binding, he drew inward, his body curling onto his side into a fetal position. I rubbed some of the lotion into his wrists, erasing the soreness from being so tightly bound and stretched.

I thought he might bolt out of the door as soon as he was untied, or maybe he would attack me, try for retribution. But instead, he just curled up on the bed, shivering, his eyes tightly shut.

I thought about what just happened. About what I had just done. And I _did_ feel badly about hurting Ben. But I didnt regret it.

I stroked his hair, trying to calm him, to reassure him. He had no idea what was going on with me, but of course, neither did I. I was just learning myself. But he was truly innocent. Undeserving of what went down tonight.

"Ben." I spoke calmly, softly, but with authority. I wanted him to know that it was over, that I wouldn't hurt him again, but I also wanted him to know that this was _my_ decision. That I could still do what I wanted, but that I was choosing to let him go.

I had a realization at that moment.

The domination games, that lifestyle, that was not for me any longer. It never really was. It was not truly who I was, or what I wanted.

That lifestyle demanded a consensual agreement, an equal partnership.

That was no longer was I wanted. I wanted the real thing. Real fear. Real pain. Real screaming. I wanted to look into their eyes and see their true submission, their admission that I had complete control over them and could do whatever I chose to do.

I packed up my things and told Ben that I couldn't see him anymore. I hoped he would understand. He really didn't argue. I think he was glad to see me go.

I walked out of the apartment that night a new woman. A woman with a plan, with goals, with needs. A woman who knew what she wanted. Now I just had to figure out _how_ to get it.

I walked out of Ben's life that night, and I never saw him again. I never returned to the BDSM club, as well. Both of those chapters of my life were closed. A new book was beginning...

* * *

I was still in the basement, lying on the empty bed, lost in illicit daydreams of my past. The incident with Ben was unfortunate, but necessary. I was never truly comfortable with our arrangement - it never felt _right_ to me. I always knew that I needed something else.

I hadn't realized it, but as I was remembering my last night with Ben, I was touching myself. Oh God, the look in his eyes, the way it made me feel. Nothing had ever aroused me as much as that.

My fantasies quickly took a turn, as they always did, and my darker side took control. Images of Ben, bound and begging, the crack of the strap on his skin, got me closer and closer to my goal.

At last, I felt tingling in my toes, and that warm feeling started moving up my body, surrounding me. The orgasm hit hard, and as I came, I realized that it wasn't Ben's face I saw... It was _Edward's_.

_Cullen. Bound. Begging._

I had waited long enough. It was fucking _time_.

**

* * *

****Disclaimer: All things "Twilight" belong to Stephanie Meyer. "Trunk Boy," however, is all mine.**


	12. Chapter 12

**WARNING: This story contains disturbing and sometimes violent material. If violence bothers you, please do not read this story.**

* * *

**Chapter 12**

I was ready.

I had prepared the car the night before, lined the trunk with plastic sheeting, and had packed a duffel bag with everything I would need. I had perfected my routine over the years, and I knew exactly what to bring. I was meticulous and well-prepared, and I never left anything behind that could be used against me.

The basement bed was ready, made with fresh, clean sheets. High thread count, very soft. This was important to me for some reason. I wanted my guests to be comfortable, and I hate cheap sheets.

I dressed carefully, in pants and low-heeled shoes. Very comfortable and functional, but stylish. I needed something that would allow me to move freely, and quickly, if necessary.

It was time to leave.

As I drove to work, I began my mental preparations. I knew that this would be a long day and that I would have to pace myself. I would have to act like it was any other day, waiting for the moment when I could slip into shadows and act. My excitement was starting to build.

* * *

Newton was in my office sitting at the small conference table in the corner. He had been there for the last couple of hours or so, putting together proposal binders for a meeting I had the next day. I could have just sent all the materials to Kinko's and had them assemble everything for me, but that's what interns are for. And I wanted to keep an eye on him today. Didn't want him to slip out, unnoticed, and ruin everything.

I tried to keep busy, or at least to _pretend_ that I was busy. I don't really think I accomplished anything that entire day. I pushed papers around my desk, I typed furiously, I walked with urgency. But inside, my mind was reeling - images flashing by, things I wanted to say, things I wanted to do, things I have already done.

I hadn't seen Cullen all day, and that pissed me off. And the more I thought about it, the angrier I got. It annoyed me that _anyone_ could cause that kind of reaction in me, and it confused me. These feelings were foreign to me, and I didn't understand them. It was not in my nature to let something like that go, either. It was a puzzle, and I would have to figure it out. Eventually.

I let out a heavy sigh.

Newton's head snapped up and turned towards me. In the process, he knocked over a stack of binders, and they tumbled to the floor.

"Um... Did you need something Ms. Swan?" he asked nervously. He obviously thought my sigh was directed at him, at something he hadn't done correctly. It pleased me that I affected him so strongly, that he was so desperate for my approval. This was going to work out well.

"No - " I started to tell him to get back to work, that when I needed him, he would know it, but just as I opened my mouth, Cullen walked past my door. He was walking slowly, hands in his pockets, so fucking confident in himself. Just as he passed my open door, he turned his head slightly towards me, and the corner of his mouth turned up. He was smirking at me. _At_ me. It was like he was laughing at something, but I wasn't in on the joke. This enraged me.

I stared at the open, empty doorway, gripping the arms of my chair. I didn't want to let go, to have my hands free, afraid that I would grab something off my desk at throw it through the door. Or at Newton. My heart was pounding and my jaw was clenched.

A moment passed, complete silence. I could tell that Newton was staring at me. I'm sure my face was red and my expression was murderous. He was petrified.

I turned and met his stare. I drank in his fear, rolling off of him in waves. I could _smell_ it. It got my blood boiling, but in a completely different way. I decided to go with that, use it to cleanse myself of the Cullen anger.

I took a deep breath and relaxed my hands, folding them in my lap. _Control_. I needed to gain control.

"No, Mr. Newton, I don't need anything," I snapped at him. "When I need something, you'll know it."

He gulped audibly and turned back to his table. The binders he had knocked over earlier were still scattered, and he quickly gathered them up. I kept my eyes on him, watching him work, the muscles in his arms and back flexing as he reached. It brought me back to my purpose, to why I was here, to what I was going to be doing tonight. I took a deep breath and let it out, slowly, watching him as I exhaled. He was leafing through a stack of papers, licking his finger every few seconds to get traction on a stack of paper. I was mesmerized by the action, as his finger met the wet of his tongue. Shit. I wondered what his tongue felt like. Was it warm? Wet and cool? Was it rough, or soft and slippery?

Fuck, I had hours to go before I could act. I had to wait. I had to stick to the plan.

* * *

It was 8 o'clock. Everyone was gone. Newton and I were alone.

I kept giving him tasks to keep him here. He knew that he couldn't go home until I released him, and he didn't ask or complain. He had only been here a few months, but he was well-trained.

It was time.

"Newton," I said softly. His head popped up, and he looked at me anxiously. "Let's wrap it up. Time to go. Finish what you're doing, and then you can help me carry my stuff to my car."

He looked relieved, and anxious to leave, and he visibly relaxed.

"Yes ma'am," he said, straightening his piles of paper. He wanted to leave his work area clean and organized. I couldn't help but appreciate that.

I logged off of my computer, turning the monitor off as well. I gathered up all of my files and stuffed them into my briefcase, pulling out the item that I needed and stashing it in my pocket. I grabbed my purse from under my desk, slung my briefcase strap on my shoulder, and I was ready to go.

"Newton, let's go." I snapped. I was ready now. The plan was in motion. "Grab that plant and bring it with you." The large plant in the corner had been placed in my office a week ago.

Newton bent over and picked up the plant, his shirt untucking from the back of his pants as he reached and pulled. Ah, skin, my favorite. He snapped up and was standing behind me in seconds.

I turned and walked out the door, Newton on my heels.

We hit the elevator, and as the doors closed, I ran through the plan in my head. What I would do. What I would say. I was so fucking ready.

The doors opened, and we walked to my car. I had one hand in my purse, grasping the stun gun I had stashed there earlier, my thumb on the power switch. My other hand was in my pocket, slipping the plastic cover off the hypodermic needle. I had done this many times, and I knew exactly what I was doing.

At this point, everything happened in slow motion.

The garage was silent, cold, and dark. The only noise was the sound of our shoes on the hard cement floor. Newton walked slightly ahead of me, trying to get to my car quickly to get rid of the heavy load he was carrying. His position was perfect. I hit the trunk remote and quickly palmed the needle again. The trunk popped open.

Newton reached the trunk and stopped. He stared into the open trunk, at the plastic sheeting, wondering what the covering was for. He didn't speak, just stood there, staring quizzically into the trunk.

Finally, I reached the back of the car, and positioned myself at his side. He turned, slowly, looking at me, his eyes meeting mine. This was the turning point. This was the moment that decided it all. Would he believe me and get in the trunk? Or would his suspicions grow?

"Oh, the plastic," I mentioned casually, waving my hand dismissively. "To protect the trunk... from the plant... spilling dirt." I said it as if it was an obvious explanation and that I was annoyed with his hesitation. He was thinking, I could tell. Poor thing, he really just had no idea what he was in for.

But I chose my boys well, and I knew who would get in the trunk and who wouldn't.

Newton was a perfect trunk boy from the beginning.

"Oh, yeah. Dirt. Okay." He muttered and started to lean in the trunk to place the plant. Of course, he initially placed it at the very front of the trunk, which wouldn't work at all.

"No, Newton, push it back, towards the back. All the way to the back, in the corner. So it doesn't tip over." Again, I used my most annoyed tone of voice.

He grabbed the plant and started to push it back, slowly, towards the very rear of the trunk. He was bent at the waist and halfway in the trunk already at the perfect angle for my attack, his center of gravity positioned in my favor. This was my moment.

In one quick, practiced move, I pulled the stun gun from my purse, flipped on the power, and grabbed the needle from my pocket, preparing to strike. I pressed the stun gun firmly against his left kidney and hit the button. The effect was intense and immediate. He made a small, choking noise, and his body froze in place. I held the stun gun in place, whipped the needle up, and sunk it into the soft flesh of his neck. I hit the plunger, all the way down. He twitched.

I hit the stun gun a couple more times. I needed about 30 seconds or so for the ketamine and valium cocktail to take effect.

As his knees started to crumple, I released the stun gun, and I pushed him into the trunk. He fell into a motionless heap. I capped the needle and returned it to my pocket, and shoved the stun gun back in my purse. He was _out_.

The plan. Keep to the plan.

I took a deep breath and focused. I acted quickly, but precisely. I placed my purse and briefcase on the back seat of the car and retrieved the duffel bag off the floor.

His position in the trunk needed to be changed so that I could properly secure him, so I turned him on his side. I dug in the duffel bag and pulled out the belt and cuffs. The wrist restraint belt was a leather belt worn at the waist like a regular belt, with wrist cuffs attached at each side. The locking ankle cuffs were leather cuffs that attached at the ankle and attached to each other with a metal ring. Once these were applied, he would be at my mercy even if he regained consciousness, which was highly doubtful, but _had_ happened once in the past.

I slipped the belt underneath him, at his waistline, then rolled him onto his back. I buckled the belt, firmly, then strapped his wrists in place. The ankle cuffs went on next, easily locking together, securing his legs.

I stood at the open trunk for a second or two, admiring my work, looking at him closely. Not that I hadn't done that before, but this was the first time I could do it openly and at my leisure. I reached down, almost tentatively, and stroked his bottom lip. It was soft and warm and all mine. I started to slide my finger into his mouth, unable to wait, wanting desperately to feel the wetness of his tongue. But then I heard a noise.

I whipped around, looking in every dark corner, but saw nothing. I stood, motionless, for almost a minute, waiting for the sound to repeat itself, or at least give me a clue to its direction. The quiet was deafening, ringing in my ears.

I didn't hear the sound again, but I decided that one possibly close call was enough for tonight.

I reached inside the duffel bag one last time and snatched the duct tape, firmly grabbing one end and pulling off a long strip. It made a loud ripping noise, and gave off a slight, but distinctive odor. Something like rubber and chemicals. Despite my need to finish up, I had to pause for just a second or two, to enjoy the assault to my senses, to remember. Another deep breath. Focus. Control. A running mantra in my head.

I placed the strip of tape firmly across his mouth. I loved the way that duct tape looks on skin, and I ran my finger across it, feeling.

It was done.

I slammed the trunk lid and got in the car.

The drive home was uneventful. No noises from the trunk. No nosy policemen. I kept my speed to just under the limit, and I drove carefully.

When I reached my house, I pulled into the garage at the back of the house and hit the remote to close the door behind me. I unlocked the door and flipped on the light. I punched in the security code to the basement door and walked inside.

Years ago, I had a hand truck custom built to my specifications, which was used only for this specific occasion. Entrances, one might call them. The exits were another thing entirely. The dolly had a long, flat bed that, when locked in place horizontally, reached the exact height of my open trunk. When the locking mechanism was released, the bed moved to a vertical position. I had left the hand truck at the top of the basement stairs, and I pulled it over the doorway and into the garage, rolling it to the back of my car, and moving the bed to its horizontal position. Pulling the stun gun from my purse as a precaution, I popped the trunk open.

Newton was still out. Hadn't moved at all. I released the breath I was holding and put the stun gun back in my purse.

The boys were never easy to manipulate at this stage, but I had developed certain techniques over the years to move them from one place to another. My twice-weekly strength training classes were integral to my success, as well.

I grabbed him under the arms, pulling his head and shoulders out and resting them on the lip of the trunk. Then I pulled his upper torso out of the trunk until his shoulders were laying on the dolly bed. Once there, the rest was easy. A couple of hard pulls, and he was out of the trunk, laying haphazardly on the dolly.

I closed the trunk lid, making a mental note to return to the car tonight and clean up the evidence, dispose of the sheeting, wipe everything down.

But that was later. Now, I still had to get him into the basement, which was the most difficult part of the process.

I straighted his body on the dolly, pulling him down so that his feet rested on the lip at the far edge, and grabbed the straps from underneath the bed up and around him. The straps would hold him in place at several points, head, shoulders, waist, hips, knees, and ankles, and would keep him immobilized for the trip down the stairs.

Once the straps were locked down tight, it was time to move. I grabbed the foot of the bed, holding it securely, and released the locking mechanism on the dolly. Slowly, I lowered the end of the bed until it was in a completely vertical position. The straps were holding, and Newton was secure.

I rolled him over the doorway into the house, thankful once again that the basement door was right inside the mud room. I turned the dolly and rolled it slowly over the basement threshold, leaning back slightly, grasping the dolly handles tightly. Gravity would take over in a second or two, and I all to do was keep Newton from tumbling down the stairs. Easy to say.

The wheels reached the edge of the first step and suddenly, that pull was there, dragging him down, but I had a firm grip, and I controlled his descent.

I took the stairs slowly, one at a time, the same process... push, gravity, hold, relax.

Finally, the dolly wheels hit the basement floor.

I took a minute to take in a deep breath and release it, centering myself for the next task at hand.

I ran up the stairs and closed the garage door, locking the deadbolts and turning on the security alarm, then I quickly dashed back down the stairs to finish this evening's work.

"Newton," I said sharply to him, testing his level of consciousness. Nothing.

"_Newton_," I yelled louder, grabbing his arm and shaking him. Zero. No movement. He was still completely out. Excellent.

I unlocked the dolly bed and, using my legs to lift the bulk of the weight, I pulled the foot up just over the edge of the bed, then let it rest there. The bed was fairly tall, and the dolly bed was now at an almost horizontal position again. I positioned the dolly closer to the bed, almost parallel, and started to remove the straps holding Newton in place. Then I simply rolled him off the dolly and onto the bed.

Another deep breath.

As I completed each stage of the plan successfully, I felt a sense of accomplishment, and relief that it was going so well. Other than that noise I heard in the basement (which was still nagging at the back of my mind), everything had gone off without a hitch.

Now, the part I enjoyed the most out of the entire evening.

I rolled Newton to his back again and positioned him in the center of the bed. I removed the wrist restraint belt and the ankle cuffs, along with his shoes and socks. I had leather restraint cuffs bolted to each corner of the bed, mounted on adjustable nylon straps.

I walked to each corner of the bed, pulling his arm or leg out to me, attaching the cuff. Once they were all attached, I adjusted the nylon straps so that he was pulled tightly and completely immobilized, then locked the straps in place.

I wrapped the modified shock collar around his neck and snapped it closed. It had adjustable settings and delivered just enough of a shock to make a point. The remote would remain in my pocket and would come into play a little later in our relationship, when I released him from the bed restraints.

Now the really fun part. And so important to my ritual - the flaying of the offensive clothing. I was beginning the process of freeing him from his miserable life.

I grabbed the large scissors from the drawer behind me and returned to the bed. Slipping the cold edge of the scissors carefully under his shirt sleeve, I started to cut. I cut all the way to his neck, then moved to the other sleeve. Lastly, I cut from each sleeve down the sides of his body, past his waist, to the hem of his shirt. Now I was able to peel his designer shirt open, at the arms, at the neck, down to the waist.

I repeated the entire process on his t-shirt, and finally, I received my reward... bare skin. The stomach I had been fantasizing about for months was now laid out before me. And it was beautiful, just as I had imagined. Tanned, firm... I could touch it whenever I wanted to, as much as I wanted to. Which I planned to do.

But not until I had finished my preparations. I was almost done.

I removed his belt and shoved it aside. I placed the edge of the scissors at the hem of his pants and cut slowly up his right leg until i reached his waist. Then the left leg, starting at the bottom and moving slowly to the waist. I peeled the cut fabric of his pants away and held my breath. This was the final moment.

He was wearing plain white briefs. So unexpected, so innocent. With all of his designer clothing and cocky demeanor, I completely expected to see designer boxer briefs at the least. But these plain, simple, Fruit of the Looms were intensely erotic.

I removed all of the cut-up clothing, slipping it out from under his body, balling it up and stuffing it in the trash. I would remove that when I did my clean up in the garage a little later.

He was now perfect. Unconscious. Shackled to my bed. Duct tape across his mouth. And stripped down to his underwear. Fuck. I ran my finger down his chest, following the trail of hair that disappeared beyond the elastic band of his briefs. I slipped my finger just under the elastic, running back and forth across his stomach. His cock twitched a little. He was unconscious, but responding. God _damn_.

I grabbed my camera and snapped a few shots. Something for the scrapbook. I always documented each case, so that I had something to remember later.

Now, I waited for him to come back to me.

I was so tempted to touch him again, but that would come later... when he was conscious, and I could hear him. I would wait. My hunger was building, reaching a point where I would soon need a release.

I sat in the wing chair across from the bed, waiting patiently.

First, movement in his fingers and toes. Then a noise or two, a soft moan, a clearing of the throat, a muffled cough behind the tape. Then he tried to stretch his limbs and move and discovered that he couldn't. He still didn't understand, wasn't completely awake yet.

I moved to his side, perching on the edge of the bed. I wanted him to see me when he opened his eyes.

He groaned and stretched some more, and then his eyelids started to flutter. Once. Twice. Now open. Looking around. Blinking. Pulling at his arms and legs, unable to move. Breathing faster. Blinking. Finally, he saw me sitting next to him, then lifted his head up to look at his body. He felt the tape across his mouth. He panicked, still confused, and pulled at his bindings. Eventually, he gave up and looked at me.

I firmly grabbed one edge of the gray duct tape and pulled hard. The ripping sound was similar to the one made when the tape was coming off the roll, but this was combined with the sound of his scream as I released his mouth. He screamed and cursed for a few seconds, and after the pain subsided, he resumed his awakening.

"M-Ms. Swan?" he asked, his panic building. "What's happening, wha-" He pulled again at his arms and legs, trying desperately to get free.

"Mr. Newton... _Mike_." I smiled at him. "You are my guest now. You will be with me for a while. Are you comfortable? Not too tight, hmm?"

He pulled again, struggling. Eventually, he would realize that it was useless and that he wasn't going anywhere. But he hadn't made that realization yet.

"Wh... What... Why... _What do you want_?" Yes, this was the inevitable question. The one I was waiting for.

"It's simple, Mike..." I smiled at him again, this time, more broadly, and I tentatively touched his hand. "I just want to play..."

* * *

**Author's Note: My thanks, as always, to my RL best friend and super-beta, LibbyLou862, for her encouragement, discussion, and ideas (like the plant in this chapter).**

**Disclaimer: All things "Twilight" belong to Stephanie Meyer. "Trunk Boy," however, is all mine. ;)**


	13. Chapter 13

**WARNING: This story contains disturbing and sometimes violent material. If violence bothers you, please do not read this story.**

**

* * *

****Chapter 13**

_He couldn't believe it._

_She took him. She took Mike Newton. He was unconscious and tied up in her trunk, and he saw the entire thing._

_Over the past few weeks, he had been watching her carefully and documenting her routine. He left the office each night before her, and then he hid in the shadows of the parking garage, waiting for her to emerge from the elevator and walk to her car. Newton was usually in tow, looking nervous, anxious to be away from her. Turns out, he was right._

_Night after night, he waited in the dark. He could feel her need growing... the sharp tone of her voice, the tension in her shoulders, the tightness in her jaw. He knew it would be soon, that she would have to act, and he would finally get to see what he had only imagined for so long._

_As he watched her ritual, he realized that it never occurred to him to try to help Newton, to confront her. He was, instead, aroused, and he stroked himself slowly through his pants. He wanted to see her succeed._

_It was at that point that he moaned. _

_She reacted immediately, searching for the source of the noise, but she eventually climbed in the car and drove away. He followed her to her house, parked on the dark street, and popped in his earbuds. The transmitter in her basement was sending a strong, clear audio signal to the portable receiver that he kept in his car._

_He closed his eyes and listened to Newton scream._

* * *

**Disclaimer: All things "Twilight" belong to Stephanie Meyer. "Trunk Boy," however, is all mine. ;)**


	14. Chapter 14

******WARNING: This story contains disturbing and sometimes violent material. If violence bothers you, please do not read this story.**

* * *

**Chapter 14**

The last week had been holy hell.

We had a major deadline approaching – a presentation to a prospective new client – and we were all on edge, working long hours with too little sleep and too much coffee.

And I had _company_ in my basement. Company who wasn't receiving my full attention.

I hadn't seen Cullen in days. Actually, the last time I saw him was the day I took Newton. I checked with Angela in Sales, a generic question about interns and their attendance patterns, and she confirmed that he _had_ been at work every day. But I hadn't seen him at all. Not walking past my door, not in the hallway, not barging in my office with some snarky comment. Was it a coincidence that I hadn't seen him? Or was it by design? Was he avoiding me? It was pissing me off. It made me anxious.

Jessica broke out the office petty cash box and treated us all to lunch from Troy's, the snack stand on the first floor. There is nothing I hate more than fast food and drinking soda through a straw, but the food from Troy's was surprisingly palatable. I ate lunch at my desk, as I usually did unless I was entertaining a future or current client, and I scrolled through the PowerPoint presentation yet another time. As with everything I did, it had to be perfect.

I was completely focused on my computer monitor, so I didn't notice at first when Cullen walked in and sat in one of the guest chairs across from my desk. He didn't knock first. He _never _knocked.

I'm not sure how long he was sitting there, but once I became aware of his presence, it took all of my concentration to pretend that I hadn't noticed, and more importantly, that I didn't care. Several minutes passed, and he didn't move or make a sound. He just sat there, waiting. I could only imagine the amused expression on his face. I knew he was waiting for me to acknowledge him, and I was determined not to give him the satisfaction. Finally, I turned my head in his direction.

I briefly met his gaze, then quickly returned to my computer.

"_What_." I spat the word out dismissively. He didn't respond. He just sat there, in my office chair, with that cocky grin on his face. If he knew how many times I thought about wiping that grin away permanently. I had so many ways. He wouldn't be so cocky after a few days in my basement. _Oh.._. I lingered there for a moment, imagining how his voice would sound once he started to beg and plead. How that smirk would disappear. Maybe a strategically placed strip of duct tape to shut him up. No... no tape. I _wanted _to hear his voice. These thoughts both comforted and aroused me, and I instinctively started to relax, to get my confidence back. Finally he spoke.

"I was wondering…"

"_What_." I snapped back at him. I was busy and mad at myself for letting him get to me, and he seemed to be enjoying my annoyance.

"I was wondering," he said again, with a smirk, "if there was anything I could do for you, anything that you _needed_…"

He smiled and let that last word hang in the air between us, so filled with meaning and invitation that I couldn't ignore him anymore. I saved the work on my computer and twisted my chair to face him. I leaned back and crossed my legs slowly and deliberately, knowing that he was watching beneath the glass top of my desk. I watched him as his eyes raked across my bare legs, as he tried to catch a glimpse of something that was not yet his.

"Anything?" I asked with feigned innocence. This was _my_ game. He was in _my_ world now. I grabbed my drink from my desk and slowly brought the straw to my mouth. My eyes were locked on his as I wrapped my lips around the straw and drew it deeply into my mouth, taking a long sip, then pulling it slowly back out. When the straw was almost completely out of my mouth, I ran my tongue across the very end, collecting a tiny drop of Coke that had collected there. It was obvious that my meaning was not lost on him. He was no longer smiling. But I was.

Newton had ceased to exist. All I wanted now was Cullen. I wanted to bind him and touch him and taste him and make him scream. I wanted him to beg me to fuck him. I wanted him to beg me to let him come.

He stared at me, not speaking, as his demeanor changed. His breathing came quicker and harder, and he was clenching his jaw – I could see the muscles there tensing. His expression was intense and frustrated and angry. _Interesting_, I thought to myself. I had never before received this _particular _reaction to my little games. I watched him with renewed interest as he suddenly leaned forward in his chair and started to speak.

"_Don't tease me_," he whispered. His voice was low, menacing. I realized that he was warning me, which I found rather amusing. He had no idea who he was dealing with. His eyes were bright, on fire, and boring into mine. I removed the straw from my mouth and set the cup sharply on my desk. The smile left my face.

"I _never_ tease."

Several seconds ticked by in complete silence. I returned his glare, determined not to look away. Slowly, his mouth curled into a grin, and he stood from his chair and stretched, his eyes never leaving mine. He walked up to the edge of my desk and placed his fingertips on the glass desktop. He leaned down, arms spread wide, his face only inches away from me. I wanted to lick his neck.

"So," he began thoughtfully, smirking. "Where are we doing this?"

I raised my eyebrows, as if I didn't know _exactly _what he was talking about. I was surprised that he had the balls to make this play, but I kept that to myself.

The pleasant tone was suddenly gone, and he was growling at me again in that low, threatening voice.

"I warned you not to tease me" he hissed. "If you're gonna give it up, then fucking give it up. _Right now_. The only question is _where_."

I was momentarily speechless. No one had _ever _talked to me like that before. I was _always _in control. I _always_ said who, and when, and where. And now, he was taking the lead, taking it from _me_. I'm sure he saw the shock on my face, the momentary indecision, and I had to turn this around, quickly. He had no idea who I was, the things I had done.

I took a deep breath and leaned back casually in my office chair.

"Fifth floor coffee room," I told him dismissively. "Fifteen minutes." I turned back to my computer and pretended to sort through my email. He stared at me angrily for a moment, then quickly turned and disappeared into the hallway.

As soon as he was gone, I let out a long, shaky breath. I hadn't realized that I had stopped breathing, and it took me a minute to collect myself. What the hell was going on? Why was I letting him get to me this way? There had been dozens before him and there would be dozens after him. He was no different from any other intern. I had to focus. I had to remember the plan. A plan which _never_ included trysts in the coffee room at work, for God's sake! All I had to do was get him to the house. Stick to the plan. I would go to the coffee room, but I would be in charge. I would meet him, but I wouldn't give him what he wanted. I would stick to the plan.

I stood up and smoothed out my skirt with the palms of my hands. Mentally, I went over what I was going to say, the conversation I would have with him, fragments of dialogue speeding through my mind.

I decided to make him wait. I would not be on time. The first step in reacquiring the upper hand in this relationship would be to let him know that we would play by _my _rules or we wouldn't play at all.

Jesus, what was I thinking? "_Relationship_?" "_Play by my rules_?" There _was_ no relationship, damn it, and there wouldn't be! Why was I thinking like this? He truly had me flustered. My palms were sweating, and I wiped them against my skirt again. _Stick to the plan_, I repeated in my head like a mantra, _stick to the plan_, and I took the elevator to the fifth floor.

There were very few people working on this floor - most of the staff had relocated to other floors while they renovated the air conditioning system which ran above the ceilings in every office. I picked this floor because I knew we would not be interrupted, and I knew the coffee room would be empty.

I was purposely ten minutes late, so I assumed he would already be there, waiting for me. I imagined him pacing as he waited, his anger and impatience growing with every minute that passed. But when I approached the room, the door was closed and the light was off. Was he not here yet? Had he changed his mind, or worse - had he decided to make _me_ wait? My blood started a slow rolling boil, and I began to think of new and creative ways to make him suffer.

I opened the door and stepped into the darkness, my hand searching blindly for the light switch. Suddenly, the small sliver of light from the hallway disappeared, and the door slammed shut behind me. In one quick movement, I was pulled across the room and shoved into the coffee counter. My breath rushed from my lungs in one quick whoosh. The only light in the room was the amber glow from the clock on the front of the empty coffee machine.

I knew it was him, Cullen, pressed against my back, forcing me harder against the counter. He was aroused, and I could feel his erection rubbing against me. He grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled my head back roughly, exposing my throat. The pain in my head was instant and sharp and exquisite, and I moaned. God help me, I _moaned_. The fingers of his other hand played across my neck, then wrapped around my throat, holding me in place. I felt his hot breath at my ear.

"_I know what you are_," he whispered as he stroked my neck. My heart was pounding, and I knew he could feel it on his fingertips. What the hell did that mean? What did he know? I quickly ran through every conversation we ever had, trying to discern when and if I had slipped up. He tightened his hold in my hair and slowly moved his mouth down my neck to my shoulder. His lips were as close to my skin as they could be without actually touching me, but I could feel his heat of his breath, and I lost my ability to think for a moment. He started moving his hand from my throat, down my neck, and between my breasts. He pressed against my stomach, pulling me back to him, and I felt the entirety of his body behind me. I couldn't breathe.

His mouth was back at my ear.

"_I know what you need_," he whispered again, and I felt his tongue on my neck as he tasted me. I moaned again. I couldn't move if I wanted to, and at this point, I didn't know what I wanted.

His hand left my stomach and moved down my thigh. He grabbed at my skirt, and, once he had gathered up a handful of fabric, he pulled up, roughly, until my skirt was at my waist. The sudden flash of cold air on my skin was shocking, and I gasped and flinched a little. He gave my hair another tug, holding me in place against him.

His mouth was hungrily kissing my neck, open and wet, and he kicked my legs open with his foot. I would have stumbled if he wasn't holding me so tightly.

_This is not happening,_ I kept thinking. _I can make him stop if I want to._ But I didn't want to.

In one quick move, he released my hair and pushed me down until my face was against the coffee counter. His hand was pressed against my back, holding me in place. I heard him loosen his belt buckle and lower his zipper. He pulled my panties to the side and slipped his hand between my legs. I was wet, and he knew it. I was lost.

He leaned down and whispered in my ear again.

"_Tell me you want me_." His fingers continued their slow exploration between my legs. _He was teasing me_, I realized. He was establishing control. He wanted _me _to beg _him_. "_Tell me_," he growled and slipped a finger inside me.

Fuck. He was good. I couldn't speak, and I couldn't move. I knew I needed to stop him, to get out of there, to get my control back, but I couldn't. He was _right there_, between my legs, rubbing himself back and forth. _Teasing_ me.

"_Tell me_," he said again as he grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled. The combination of his rough, hard voice and the sharp pain in my scalp was more than I could take, and the words slipped out of my mouth against my will.

"Do it, Goddamn it," I hissed. "_Just fucking do it_."

He hesitated for only a second, and then he thrust into me with one long, hard motion. He groaned as he entered me, then immediately began to mutter under his breath, the fluctuating volume matching the thrusts of his hips. I could only pick out random words here and there. "_Fuck_," "_good_," and "_tight_" seem to be repeated often. And "_Jesus_." He said "_Jesus_" a lot.

I thought about kicking him, about twisting around and grabbing his elbow in a self-defense move I had learned. I thought about kicking him in the crotch or the knee, stomping on his foot with my heel. I thought about flipping him to the ground, then pinning him and giving him some of his own medicine. Shove a finger inside _him_, see how _he_ likes it. I thought about doing all of these things, but I did nothing.

I let him fuck me in the coffee room.

And my body betrayed me. It was responding to his every move, every touch, every pounding thrust. Instead of pulling away from him, I started to move my hips _with_ him, back against him, aching for more of him inside me. It felt so good... _he_ felt so good. I wanted him to fuck me harder, faster, but there was no way in hell I was going to ask him for it. This was bad enough as it was.

He tightened his fingers around my hair, then pulled my head back one more time. It _hurt_. And I screamed.

"_Fuck_!"

As I yelled, I involuntarily tighted the muscles between my legs and pushed back against him again. It was, apparently, more than he could take - the tightness, the movement, the sound of my pain - and he thrust inside me one hard, last time. He let out a string of expletives as he came inside me, then a heavy sigh, and a shudder.

And then, he was gone.

Slowly, I stood up straight, looking around the room in the dark. As if I could see him, even if he was still in the room. I waited. Five seconds, ten. Twenty. A minute. The silence was deafening.

The sensation of something wet travelling down my thigh brought me back to reality.

He was _gone_.

That fucking asshole! How _dare_ he do that to me? He had _no idea_ who he was dealing with, what I could do, what shitstorm was about to rain down on him! Fuck. Fuck! _FUCK_!

I felt around on the counter until I touched a stack of napkins, and I grabbed one and quickly swiped at the mess on my thighs. I adjusted my clothing and smoothed down my hair. I stood there in the dark, seething, fists clenched, trying to figure out what my next move should be.

And then it hit me.

_Why_ I was so pissed at him.

It wasn't because he threw me on the counter and fucked me. It wasn't because he pulled my hair, repeatedly. It wasn't even because he took control from me.

It was because he didn't let me _come_.

Selfish motherfucking bastard.

As I stepped out into the lighted hallway and walked towards the elevator, I wondered how long _he_ could hold out without coming. And how that would make him feel. I smiled.

I knew how it would make _me_ feel, and I planned to find out.

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**A/N: Reviews are like perfect PowerPoint presentations. :)**

**Disclaimer: All things "Twilight" belong to Stephanie Meyer. "Trunk Boy," however, is all mine.**


	15. Chapter 15

**WARNING: This story contains disturbing and sometimes violent material. If violence bothers you, please do not read this story.**

**

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****Chapter 15**

I stabbed the elevator button again with my finger.

It was already lit up, but I was impatient, and extremely anxious to get back to my office. I needed to be in familiar surroundings, somewhere that I felt comfortable, that I felt safe, in control. I needed to think, and I needed to focus. The events in the coffee room had me feeling confused and anxious and angry. And humiliated. I felt fucking _humiliated_. He had taken me, taken my control, something I _never_ give up, and I fucking let him. It made me seem weak.

I needed to get my control back, my control over _him _specifically, and I needed to teach him a lesson. He needed to know that he could _never_ do that and get away with it. That there _will_ be repercussions. That he will have to answer for his actions.

Just thinking these thoughts had helped to calm me, and as the elevator doors finally opened, I felt that I had at least a small grasp on my self-control.

I rode the elevator back up to the ninth floor, and I was thankfully alone. I wasn't sure that I had completely pulled it all together yet, and I didn't want to test my resolve with some random person from another department, or worse, someone that I knew that I would have to actually speak with.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, I made a quick dash for the ladies room, and I cleaned myself up. I stood before the mirror and smoothed down my hair. My scalp was sore where he had pulled, and I found myself repeatedly touching those spots, remembering the feeling of his fingers wrapped around my hair. I fixed my clothing, checking for any evidence of our interaction. He had made no marks on my skin that I could see, and I was grateful for that. I stared into the mirror, transfixed, and watched my hand as it smoothed down the front of my blouse. I had a hard and sudden flash of Cullen's hands on my body and how he had been _exactly_ there, travelling down the front of my body. The strength of his fingers pulling against me, the heat of his breath on my neck, the rough sound of his voice in my ear. _Jesus_.

The memory was visceral and strong, and my knees started to buckle. I had to hold on to the counter to keep my balance. _Damn it_. Get a fucking grip, Swan.

I wet a couple of paper towels and placed them on my neck, my forehead, my chest. I needed to calm down. Why was this bothering me so much? Why was this affecting me so completely? It was really pissing me off.

After a moment, I washed and dried my hands and then took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. I willed my muscles to relax, then walked out the door.

I finally made it to my office door, and it was slightly ajar, not closed as I had left it. Curious. And disturbing. I pushed the door open and quickly scanned the room.

He was there, sitting in one of my guest chairs, waiting for me.

Fucking _Cullen_.

And he was smirking.

I slammed the door closed behind me and walked over until I was standing right in front of him, practically between his legs.

"What the _fuck_ was that?" I hissed slowly under my breath and stared down at him. I was livid and trying desperately to reign it in.

He was reclining in the chair, very casually, fiddling with his IPhone. His legs were sprawled out in front of him and extended on either side of me. I had a fleeting image of those long legs wrapping around me, pulling me in. He slowly lifted his head to look at me, that small grin still in place.

For the first time that day, I noticed what he was wearing, and I was momentarily distracted. Those damn tight black pants again, riding low on his hips. I had never looked at them closely before, and I noticed a tiny vertical pinstripe, so subtle you could barely see it. His belt was thick, black leather, the buckle I had never seen before, only heard. He was also wearing a crisply starched white dress shirt, the top three buttons undone. I wondered if he had the matching suit jacket, and if I might catch a glimpse of the total outfit. I was blatantly leering at him, I couldn't help myself, and I found that I was suddenly aching between my legs just looking at him, standing this close. My body hadn't yet forgotten that it had been used, discarded, and unfulfilled.

"What was what?" he said innocently, then looked back down at his phone, dismissing me.

I lost it.

I grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head back to look at me. I was seething. I wanted him to feel the pain that I felt. I wanted him to feel the loss of control. I wanted him in my basement. I wanted him bound and completely at my mercy. I wanted him to scream. I just... wanted him.

A small sound escaped from his mouth as I pulled on his hair. It sounded like he said, "Yesssssss," but I couldn't be sure. He disarmed me so easily and completely just with his presence, and I was struggling for control. I held his hair tightly and leaned down so that my face was inches from his.

"_Look at me when I talk to you_," I growled angrily. "I don't know who the _fuck_ you think you are, or what you _think_ you know, but - " and before I could finish my thought, I felt his hands on my legs.

He had reached up slowly, like he knew that if he moved too quickly, I would stop him. Every instinct I had screamed for me to stop him. But I didn't. I knew that he was reaching for me, but I let it go. As he leaned forward, I moved with him, but kept a tight hold on his hair, as if that allowed me to think I was still in control of the situation.

His fingertips were just barely grazing the backs of my knees, moving slowly up and down, back and forth. It was hypnotic. The instant that I felt his hands on me, my body reacted, not as a woman in control, but just as a woman being touched by a man. There was some strange elemental connection between us, and I was helpless before him, despite all of my posturing. I should have tipped his chair back, stepped across his throat with my heels, pinned him in place. But I didn't.

His hands continued to move slowly up my legs until they were under my skirt again, stroking the sides of my thighs. If I didn't stop this soon, it would be the coffee room all over again.

But then he spoke, his voice warm and liquid, pouring all over me like something sticky and sweet.

"_Why did you close the door, Isabella_?" He whispered. "Did you want me to fuck you again, maybe on top of your desk this time?"

It took a second or two for his words to register. He was playing with me again, trying to dominate me, take control. Or maybe he was just trying to provoke a response of some sort. To see what I would do.

Fuck it, I reacted. _Immediately,_ this time.

I moved my hand swiftly from his hair to his chin, and I grabbed his jaw tightly in my hand. He winced a little, as if it hurt, and tried to pull away from me. But that was good. I wanted it to hurt. I wanted _him_ to hurt. I pressed my fingers in deeper, and I knew it had to be uncomfortable. I made sure that I had his complete attention, that he was looking in my eyes. I wanted him to completely comprehend the situation.

"Let's get something straight, right now, _boy_." My tone was low, but menacing. "What happened earlier today will _never_ happen again."

"Why not?" he spit, his playful mood now gone. "You didn't like it?" He still thought that he was going to battle against me and win. But I knew what I was capable of. He, apparently, did not.

I tightened my grip on his jaw and smiled sweetly. He processed the expression on my face, and he caved. He knew that I had won this round. I reached across his face with my thumb, and I stroked his bottom lip, swiping a couple of times. So soft, so soft...

"No, sweetheart... Next time, _I'm_ gonna fuck _you_."

* * *

It was after eight o'clock when I pulled into the garage at home and turned off the engine. I sat, for several minutes, in complete silence, staring at nothing in particular. I was forty-seven years old. I had taken my first boy over twenty years ago, and since then, there had been more of them than I could remember. Faces, names... all blurred together.

But no one, no one had _ever_ made me feel the way Edward Cullen made me feel.

I sat in the dark garage, remembering every conversation, analyzing every emotion. I thought I wanted him like the others, but I didn't. They were transitory, passing through my life, feeding whatever need I had at the moment. But Cullen felt different. He felt _permanent_. I would tire of the others after a week. They were interchangeable. The anticipation was always more exciting than the reality. But with Cullen, I always wanted more.

Even today, after everything that had happened, I wanted more. He stormed out of my office after our little talk, and although I was initially pleased with myself, I immediately felt a loss. I had Newton waiting for me, just inside the house, but he was no longer what I needed.

Everything was changing. I was changing. My life had been perfect for so many years. I knew what I wanted, and I always got it. I was careful, and I never got caught. And now, Cullen had inserted himself into my life and was turning everything upside down. I had a fucking plan, and Cullen was changing the rules. _My fucking rules_.

I was angry now, angry with the disruption in my life, and I stormed into the house and slammed the door. I knew I needed to calm down before I went downstairs, but I wasn't thinking. My control was slipping through my fingers, and I needed to act, to empower myself. I may not have control over Cullen ("_Yet,_" I thought to myself), but I sure as hell had control over Mike Newton, right at that moment. And someone had to pay.

I stood at the basement door, entered the combination, and walked down the stairs.

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**Disclaimer: All things "Twilight" belong to Stephanie Meyer. "Trunk Boy," however, is all mine.**

**A/N: Thanks, as always, to my best friend and beta, LibbyLou862.**


	16. Chapter 16

******WARNING: This story contains disturbing and sometimes violent material. If violence bothers you, please do not read this story.**

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**Chapter 16b**

_He sat in his car, in the dark, parked outside of her house, as he had every night for months. He was listening to the activity within the house, his earbuds pressed tightly into his ears. There seemed to be more screams than usual. She was angry tonight._

_It should have pleased him, aroused him, to listen as she controlled the boy. He loved the timbre of her voice when she was in charge, how it changed depending on her mood. Deep, throaty laughter. Soft, whispered commands. She knew exactly what she was doing and how to get exactly the right response out of the boy._

_But he was disturbed. The more he listened, the more upset he became. Not because he felt sorry for the boy. But because it wasn't him. He knew that he could give her everything,_ be _everything... but she needed to_ see_._

_He thought that he showed her today. Showed her how much he loved her and how they could be together. She was upset, but it was the only way he could get her attention and force her to focus on him and what they could be. Now, everything was different._

_More screams. It was killing him. He couldn't be on the outside any more. He had to be inside the house. With her. In any way that she would have him._

_He climbed out of the car and quickly walked up to her front door. He stood there for a moment, listening, thinking. Would she reject him? He ran a shaking hand through his hair. Then, before he could stop himself, he rang the bell._

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**Disclaimer: All things "Twilight" belong to Stephanie Meyer. "Trunk Boy," however, is all mine.**


	17. Chapter 17

******WARNING: This story contains disturbing and sometimes violent material. If violence bothers you, please do not read this story.**

**A/N: And for those of you who actually _LIKE _this story, I hope this chapter was worth the wait... It's my longest chapter yet. Whew. ;)**

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**Chapter 17**

The doorbell was ringing.

I was in the basement with Mike, working out my frustrations from the day. The incident in the coffee room, followed by the confrontation in my office, had left me feeling out of control and angry, and I needed an outlet to express those feelings. Unfortunately for Mike, _he_ was the outlet. It had not been a pleasant session so far. Well. Not pleasant for _him_.

And then the damn doorbell rang and interrupted my focus. No one _ever_ came to my house, so I just ignored it. They would eventually go away.

I turned back to Mike, but then I heard knocking. Loud, rapid, _insistent_ knocking. Fuck! Whoever it was wasn't leaving, and I was going to have to deal with them. I quickly darted up the stairs, and, at the last minute, I turned back to Mike.

"You'll need to keep quiet while I'm gone. Do you understand?" The threat of punishment for disobediance was implied, and he got it. He nodded his head in response. Such a good boy. I almost hated to hurt him. Almost.

I unlocked the basement door and walked through the mud room, past the kitchen, into the living room, and then to the front door. The knocking grew increasingly louder as I approached the door. Whoever was there was now banging on the door with a fist, or maybe the side of a fist. It was a loud, urgent, thudding noise. I couldn't imagine who would dare knock like that. I peered into the peephole and gasped.

It was Edward Cullen.

At my _house_.

Pounding on my _door_.

I immediately took a step back, instinctively moving away from the door, yet unable to tear my eyes away from it, knowing who was just on the other side.

I hesitantly approached the peephole again and looked through. From what I could see, he was running a hand through his hair, and then he lifted his face and looked right at me. Or at least, that's what it felt like. He stared through the door, and I knew that he could feel me watching him. He looked desperate and broken, a look I knew well.

The knocking finally stopped. I didn't move on my side of the door. I wondered if he would give up and walk away. I wanted to fling the door open and usher him in, and I wanted him to leave and never come back. He had turned my life upside down, and I didn't know how to act anymore. I didn't know what I wanted.

It was silent.

And then I heard him. A low, growling sound. And a single word.

_"Please."_

My heart pounded as I listened to him beg. It was what I had wanted since the first moment I saw him. And now he was here, inches away from me, ready and willing to give himself to me.

I reached out and touched my hand to the door.

"Isabella," he growled again, "_please_."

It was as if he knew that I was standing here, that I was listening to him, that I could _feel_ him through the solid wood of the door. And strangely enough, I could. I wanted him. _Fuck it._

I grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door open with one quick motion.

He was holding tightly onto the doorjamb on either side of him, arms stretched high above his head. It almost looked like he was holding himself up, that if he let go, he would collapse to the ground. He had on the same clothes that he was wearing earlier today... the black pinstriped pants, the crisp white shirt, partially unbuttoned, but now disheveled and untucked. The position of his arms pulled the shirt up high enough that I could see a sliver of skin above his belt.

I couldn't see his face - his head was hanging down, in seeming defeat. I wondered if he thought that I would reject him, that I wouldn't open the door and let him in. I was strangely torn - I wanted to comfort him and, at the same time, to hear him scream.

He spoke again, his voice harsh and demanding, never raising his head.

"_Let me in_."

There was no question in the statement, no asking for permission, just a statement, a demand. Did he think he would knock on my door, and I would just grant him access to my house?

"_Why would I do that_?" I hissed back at him, and I realized that I was anxious just to hear the sound of his voice again, with no barrier between us. I had spoken with him numerous times before in the past few months, in the office, but having him here, at the entrance to my home, was thrilling and frightening and intoxicating. I had _never_ let anyone into my house before who wasn't installing, repairing, or delivering something. But it was more than letting him into my house. It was letting him into my _life_.

He slowly lifted his head and met my eyes.

"I need... I need you to... " He fumbled with his words as I stood there holding the door, waiting for some explanation for his actions, something to make sense of all of this.

"_Show_ me," he pleaded. "Show me what you do with them."

And then it all clicked into place.

I knew he wanted me, in some way that wasn't yet defined, and I knew that he knew something about my basement activities, but he was asking me to fill in the missing gaps, that _not_ knowing was worse than the reality.

He had to _know_.

And as I continued to look deeply into his eyes, I discovered another truth - I _wanted_ him to know.

I stepped aside and let Edward Cullen into my home.

Then, I closed and locked the door behind him.

I walked through the living room into the kitchen, assuming he was following right behind me, and he was. I turned to look at him, and I had to take a breath. He was so fucking beautiful and so desperate to belong to me, and he was standing _in my kitchen_. Surreal. This seemed to be a monumental moment, a turning point of sorts, and I paused to appreciate the gravity, to make my final decision. Once I let him into my life, there would be no turning back. He would know everything. He would be the only person in the entire world who knew everything.

Of course, there was never really any question if I would let him in. That was decided the day he first walked into my office.

I found it difficult to tear my eyes from his, dark and green and desperate. I wanted to slowly explore his body with my eyes, but this was not the time. Instead, I grabbed a kitchen stool and dragged it into the far corner, against the cabinet. It was time to give him what he had asked for.

"Sit," I ordered.

He perched on the edge of the stool, one long leg wrapping around the back, the other stretched out in front of him. He grabbed the seat between his legs, not to hold on, but just needing to do something with his hands. When seated, he was at eye level with me, and he gave me a questioning look. This was good. He followed instructions and seemed to instinctively know not to speak.

I flipped on the television monitor on the counter, and as it blinked to life, he turned to see what I was showing him. The wide shot of the basement camera told him everything he needed to know. Newton was clearly visible on the screen.

I held my breath and waited for some reaction from him, something to indicate what was going on inside his head. Not knowing what he was thinking was killing me.

But he didn't say a word. His eyes grew slightly wider as he took in the image on the screen and digested it. His heart was pounding - I could see the blood pulsing in his neck - and he was breathing faster. He parted his lips slightly and ran his tongue across his bottom lip. Maybe it was just a nervous reaction on his part, but to me, and the way he was staring at the monitor while he did it, well, it looked like raw lust.

I started to leave him, to return to the basement, but he grabbed my wrist and stopped me. I turned back and gave him a sharp look.

"Don't go... down there... without me." I tried to pull away, but he stopped me. "_Please.._." The tone of his voice when he begged was so pleasing to me. I could listen to it forever. "Let me come down there with you. It's not enough..." He didn't finish his sentence, but he gestured to the monitor with a nod of his head. It wasn't enough for him to watch on the screen... he wanted to be in the room with me. Well, that just wasn't happening. I had already broken enough rules by simply letting him into the house, and then compounding it with letting him watch on the monitor. I had to draw the line.

"I don't thing so, sugar," I said with a vicious smile. "You stay here, and don't make a sound. Do you understand?" He could not possibly misunderstand my meaning, and he finally nodded once, and sighed. I looked down at my wrist, where he was still holding me, and then glared back at him. He dropped his hand quickly.

I returned to the basement, nervous, but excited, knowing that I now had an audience. I walked circles around the bed. I looked at Mike. I looked away. I glanced at the camera several times. I might have been killing time, I'm not sure. But I suddenly knew one thing for sure - I didn't want Mike Newton anymore. I only wanted Edward Cullen. And he was upstairs, right at that moment, waiting for me to take him. And I had no idea how to deal with that. I stood in front of the cabinet in the corner, processing this new information and trying to decide what I wanted to do with Newton, when I heard a noise. It sounded like the basement door being opened. But that was impossible. And then I heard footsteps on the stairs.

I whirled around quickly to face the stairs, and I held my breath.

It was Cullen. Of course. Who else would it be? I had let him into my house, let him watch me on the security monitor. Why was I surprised that he had somehow gotten into my basement, my most private domain?

He looked almost apologetic as he reached the bottom of the stairs and looked at me, then Newton, then back to me.

"I hacked the lock," he said softly with a shrug. "I had to."

Then Newton started screaming.

"Dude! Thank _God_ you're here! This fucking bitch is _crazy_! You've _got_ to help me, get me _out_ of here!" Newton had altered his position on the bed. He had moved to the edge, both feet on the floor, and was crouched and ready to bolt, waiting for that small escape window which would give him his freedom. He looked at Cullen as if he were the Lord God coming down from Heaven to free him from the bonds of slavery. I fingered the remote to Newton's collar in my skirt pocket, but I didn't use it yet. I wanted to see what Cullen would do. And of course, he didn't disappoint. It seemed that he never did.

Cullen looked at Newton with disinterest.

"Not me," he said softly with a shake of his head, then simply turned back to me, dismissing Newton entirely.

Newton crumbled to the floor, devastated by this shocking turn of events.

"No, no, no," he moaned, looking at Cullen in disbelief. Then he snapped his gaze to mine, anticipating my next move, his negative words taking on a whole new meaning. "No, no, no, please!" He was a bit more urgent for me. But it was irrelevant. He had broken the rules, and he knew better. I pressed the remote in my pocket.

The result was immediate and effective. He screamed once, then fell to the ground, shaking, quietly moaning to himself. He would be unable, or unwilling, to move for several minutes, which was good. It gave me the time I needed to deal with Cullen. I turned back to face him, unsure where to go from here. But Cullen took the lead.

"I couldn't do it. I couldn't sit up there and watch you with him, unable to do anything about it." He took a hesitant step towards me. "Isabella... I... I need you. I only want you, no one else. And I want you to need me, and _only_ me." I was stunned by his little speech, yet aroused at the same time. But this raw emotion was foreign to me, and it scared me. "I can be everything you need, everything you want." He ran his hands through his hair in desperation. "Let him go," he gestured to Newton. "Be with me."

My heart was pounding out of my chest. I had been spinning out of control since the day he walked into my life, and it had all led to this moment. I had to make a decision, and I had to make it fast. Could this be it? Could this be what I had been waiting for, searching for all those years? All those boys, and none of them ever truly interested me. Until now. Maybe we could make it work. Maybe. But I would have to let Newton go first - I had no interest in him anymore, and the promise of a future with one man was enticing.

Cullen stood patiently while I tossed it all around in my head, but my indecision was eating at him. He started to shift his weight, from leg to leg, and was running his hands repeatedly through his hair. Had it only been a few hours earlier than he had overpowered me in the coffee room? And now I was considering a relationship with him? Jesus.

"Isabella, _please_..." he whispered. "Please leave him, and be with me." He reached out his hand to me, and I stared at it. I wanted to touch it, I wanted to grab it, to feel that connection, but I couldn't make myself do it. It would be giving in, turning over control to him, even it if was just for a moment.

He made the decision for me. He stepped forward again and grabbed my hand, pulling me towards him. His hand was full of heat and electricity, and I felt like I was drowning. I was being pulled under by Edward Cullen. And I was loving it.

He started to walk backwards, pulling me with him, and he was staring deep in my eyes. There were no words, because words weren't necessary. We both knew.

He pulled me all the way up to the basement door, and as he turned to enter the combination, he repositioned the hand that was holding mine. He gave my hand a squeeze, then started rubbing his thumb lightly against my skin. It was glorious and sweet, and I couldn't wait to touch more of him.

The door opened with a click and he pulled us through. As the door closed and locked behind us, I came out of the delicious fog that I had been in for the last few minutes, and I twisted our hands so that I was now pulling him. I needed to be back in control.

Once I reached the living room, I turned to him. It was time he knew what he was in for.

"We will talk later. In great detail. I have... expectations. And rules. But for now... " I took a deep breath, and licked my lips in anticipation. "I just need to touch you. Everywhere."

He didn't say a word. He was waiting for me.

I took a step closer to him, now only inches apart. I could feel the heat from his body. I could smell his desire for me. I unclasped the remaining buttons on his white shirt and slipped my hands beneath the fabric, finally touching his skin. He sucked in a breath, but didn't move. I was going to enjoy testing his control.

I pressed my palms flat against his chest and then slid them up to his shoulders, pushing the shirt up and back. It slipped easily behind him, but when it got to his forearms, I had to pull to get the shirt competely off. I threw it to the floor.

He was considerably taller than me, even in the heels I was wearing, but it was obvious to both of us that I was the dominant one, that I was in control. His body was beautiful, perfect. Truly perfect. Hard and muscular, defined. A smattering of dark hair on his pecs, and then a thin vertical line that disappeared into the front of his pants. Pants than were situated deliciously low on his hips.

I returned my hands to his chest, but the tentative touch was gone. I needed to own him now, to make him mine. I ran my fingernails across his skin, raising lovely red streaks. When my fingernails raked across his nipples, he moaned softly and reached up with one hand to touch me.

I grabbed his wrist firmly and returned it to his side.

"You are not allowed to touch me yet. Keep your hands at your sides. Do you understand?"

He nodded once, and I released his wrist. His expression was almost joyous at my command, like he had been waiting for it and it was finally being realized. I think he wanted to be under my control, that he had wanted it for a long time, and he was now getting what he wanted.

I touched his face, feeling the roughness and softness of the hair on his jaw, scraping my fingernails along the scruff. I touched a finger to his bottom lip, that lip that I had wanted to bite for so many months now, and I slipped my finger inside. It was wet and warm, and he moved his tongue against my finger, wrapping around it, and sucking it softly into his mouth. I wanted to punish him for his forwardness, but I was lost in the feeling of it. Soft. Wet. Warm. Finally, I pulled my finger out and looked at it. It was shiny and wet, slick from his mouth, and I wanted to taste it, to taste _him_. So I did. I slipped the finger into my mouth as he watched me, sliding it in and out a few times, using my tongue, enjoying his taste. He groaned. Quite loudly. Ah, a kink in his armor. I would have to remember that.

I returned my hands to his body, and I moved slowly down to his stomach, letting my fingers explore the sharply defined muscles there under the soft, warm skin. His stomach quivered as I touched him, and he groaned again. The noises he made were intoxicating, and I wanted to do things to him to hear more.

I reached the waistband of his pants, his belt, and I didn't stop. I let my hand travel down the front of his pants until I could feel his erection pressing against me. He cursed softly under his breath. He was quite hard beneath my hand, and I rubbed up and down several times, teasing him with the brief friction. He felt amazing in my hand, and I had a brief flashback to how it felt in the coffee room, when he was rubbing it back and forth between my legs. I had to pause for a second to get my mind right, back to _this_ room, to now.

I realized, as I was touching his body, that he was truly mine, that he finally belonged to me, that I could do whatever I wanted with him. And there was so much I wanted to do with him. The possibilities were endless.

I unbuckled his belt, popped the button on his pants, and lowered the zipper. The pants easily slipped down his legs and pooled at his feet. I told him to remove his socks and shoes, as well as the pants, and he did. He listened well.

Now he stood before me, naked except for his black boxer briefs, and sporting quite an impressive erection. I smiled to myself. Poor baby. He was going to have to suffer with that hard-on for quite a while, longer than he thought.

I slid my finger into the elastic of his briefs, back and forth a couple of times against the heat there, and then popped it sharply against his skin.

"Take them off," I demanded.

He slid the briefs down his legs and then kicked them to the side. He turned back to face me, and I had to stop for a moment to take him all in. His beautiful face, deep green eyes, full lips, hard jaw. His perfect hard body, toned arms, long fingers. A couple of tattoos on his upper arms and chest. All those months staring at his clothed body, it never occurred to me that he might be hiding some ink. A bonus, indeed. I continued my visual exploration, down to his well toned legs, thighs, calves. Even his feet were beautiful. And his cock. _Jesus_.

It was then that I noticed he had a small black tattoo below his stomach, just above the line of his pubic hair. It looked newer than the others. I couldn't read it, it was foreign, and I wondered what it meant. I would have to ask him later.

His complete nakedness gave him a vulnerability I had never seen before in him, and I felt a surge of power. He was mine. Mine for the taking.

I reached out and touched his cock, stroking it softly a few times. He groaned and moved his hips against my hand, silently begging for more. I wrapped my hand around it, grabbing it tightly. This got his attention back to me.

"This is mine now. Do you understand?" He nodded rapidly, anxiously. "You are not to come unless I give you my permission. Do you understand?" He nodded again, and whimpered softly. "If you disobey me, you will suffer greatly. Do you understand?" He nodded one last time. He thought he understood, but he didn't. He wouldn't truly understand until later.

I put my hands on his shoulders and pushed him down.

"On your knees," I said brusquely. "Sit on your heels. Hands behind your back. Clasped together."

He followed my instructions perfectly, and he was a sight to behold before me. Fucking beautiful. If I had a camera and could only have one picture of him, this would be the picture I would want. The picture of submissiveness. Well, maybe not to some, but for me, this was the ultimate expression.

He was watching me intently.

I ran my hands down my body, down my skirt, down to the hem. I grabbed the fabric in my hands and pulled it up, slowly, until it was at my waist. I was bare underneath my skirt, completely bare, and I was more than ready for Edward Cullen.

His eyes widened and he moaned again. I was already getting used to the tempting sounds he made. I held my skirt up with one hand, and I brought the other to his head, running my fingers through his soft, messy hair. He closed his eyes at my touch and hummed with pleasure. I grabbed a handful of hair tightly and pulled his head back, to look at me.

"Open your eyes. Look at me. I want you to remember..." I said in a throaty whisper. I pulled his head towards me, just inches from my body. His face was at eye level with my crotch, and he was breathing heavily, his nostrils flaring. It hadn't escaped my notice that his cock was twitching and glisteningly wet. God _damn_, I wanted him. My need for him was now overpowering me.

"Make me come," I said sharply, and I pulled his face between my legs.

He was not hesitant in the slightest, and he quickly slipped his warm, wet tongue inside me. That first touch was like an electrical shock to me, and my entire body twitched, and I screamed.

"Fuck! _Yes_!"

He covered me with his mouth, his warm, soft lips kissing my bare, private skin. He ran his tongue slowly up and down as he worked me with his mouth. He parted my lips with his and found my swollen clit, rubbing it with his tongue, and sucking it into his mouth, between his teeth.

I was shaking, my legs were weak and trembling. He was amazingly good with his mouth, and I wanted more. I tightened the hold on his hair and pressed his face, hard, between my legs.

He responded immediately to my aggression and hungrily worked me with his tongue. He was licking and sucking and biting my clit, then sliding down lower and slipping his tongue deep inside me. I was so wet, and so fucking hot for this man, and as I looked down at him and what he was doing to me, I knew I wouldn't last much longer.

"Fucking make me _come_, Cullen!" I growled at him, grinding his face into my wetness.

He sucked my throbbing clit into his mouth one last time, hard and deep, and then he bit down. That was it. I fucking lost it, and screamed as I came.

"Fuck! FUCK! _FUCK_!" My entire body shook with the depth of my orgasm, and a considerable amount of time passed before I was completely coherent again. No one had ever made me come that hard before.

I pushed him away from me, and pulled my skirt back down, smoothing it back into place with my hands.

"Now," I said to him with a smirk, "we're even." He had his in the coffee room, and now I had mine. Now we could start over.

I walked over to the front door and pulled it open, wide, and held it for him. I turned to look at Cullen. He was still naked. Still on his knees. Still covered in my wetness. And still hard as a rock. He was looking at me curiously, not understanding my quite blatant gesture. So I spelled it out for him.

"You need to leave now. Get dressed and go."

He obviously wasn't expecting this. He was expecting some relief for his raging hard-on, but that would not be today. He would learn. He started to speak, but thought better of it and started to get dressed. He walked to the door, hesitantly, not understanding why I had denied him. But this, too, was something he did not yet understand. I hadn't denied him. It was quite the opposite. I had given him a gift. I had allowed him to make _me_ lose control. He would understand, in time.

He was almost out the door, when he turned back to me, that desperate look on his face again.

"You're not going to..." he whispered, then cleared his throat. "Are you going to ... go back ... to _him_?" He was worried that I would return to Newton in the basement after he left. It was sweet.

"Only to release him," I said in a low voice. I met his eyes. "_You _are mine now." He released the breath he was holding and looked relieved. Then, I reached out and palmed his still-hard cock once more. He flinched against my touch, holding his breath again.

"You remember what we talked about, yes? That you _belong_ to me now. That you are _mine_. That _this_," I squeezed his erection tightly, "is now _mine_. That your orgasms are mine. And trust me, I _will_ know."

He nodded shakily and turned to walk away. I grabbed his arm and stopped him one last time.

"Edward, one more thing," I told him sternly. "Tomorrow morning. 8am, sharp, my office. We'll go from there."

He nodded one final time and walked out into the night. Out of my house, but apparently, not out of my life. I shut and locked the door and leaned back against it with a sigh. I stood there for quite a while, trying to make sense of it all. So much had happened today, so many conflicting emotions. Something felt different, but I couldn't figure out what. Something had changed. And then it occurred to me.

Edward. I had called him Edward.

* * *

**A/N: Many thanks to Mabarbarella for the crisp white shirt reference as well as the fingernails scraping along his scruffy jaw. Bet you didn't think I remembered, didja M? :)**

**And did I thank KittyCullen16 for the amazing review she gave me on TheTwilightAwards(dot)com? Kitty, you would make one kick ass little newborn. ;)**

**And as always, mucho mucho gracias to my beta and bestest friend, LibbyLou862. Libby, I couldn't do it without you. And folks, Libby has written me a "Trunk Boy" theme song! Hope to have it up soon for all to hear! IT'S AMAZING!**

**If you like this story, and especially this chapter, please leave me some love! (And if you can't read between the lines, that means leave a review!)**

**Disclaimer: All things "Twilight" belong to Stephanie Meyer. "Trunk Boy," however, is all mine.**


	18. Chapter 18

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**A/N: I had some technical problems posting this chapter last week, so I pulled it and reposted today. If you already read, I apologize for the repost. And if you have me or the story on alert, and you received duplicate notifications, I apologize about that too!**

**WARNING: This story contains disturbing and sometimes violent material. If violence bothers you, please do not read this story.**

* * *

**Chapter 18**

I was up early on Monday, sitting at my desk by 7 a.m.

I was anxious and excited.

I was starting a new chapter of my life today, and for the first time, I wasn't really sure what to expect. I knew that I would be in control, but it was also a completely different dynamic from anything I had ever done, and I would be making it up as I went.

After Edward left last night, I knew it was time to deal with Newton, that it was time to get rid of him. I didn't want him anymore, and he was just an annoyance to me now. I changed into some more comfortable clothing, gathered my supplies, and I headed downstairs.

Newton was sitting in a ball on the floor, in the far corner. He shifted nervously when I reached the bottom of the stairs, his eyes wide, like saucers. His obvious fear should have entranced me, aroused me, but I felt nothing. Only excitement at the thought of what the next day would bring.

"Newton," I said calmly, as I sat on the bed. "Up here, next to me." I patted the spot next to me and waited for him to join me. He looked hesitant, unsure of what my game was, but he acted quickly, wanting to avoid any negative repercussions. He perched next to me and waited.

"Give me your hand." I was using the most comforting tone of voice I had, trying to put him at ease. He didn't move. He was frozen.

"C'mon, give me your hand." I thought about saying _I won't bite_, but I thought better of it.

He finally raised his hand to mine. I flipped it over, palm up, and dropped the two small pills into his hand. I handed him a bottle of water.

"Take these pills. They will make you feel better." This was my standard line, tried and true. They were used to me feeding them pills, various medications over the course of their stay to make things easier - and better - so he didn't think twice. He popped the pills into his mouth and quickly swallowed them down with a couple of sips of water.

After the pills kicked in, I loaded him in my car and gave him his freedom. I knew that he would remember nothing of his visit - my method was solid, and I hadn't had any problems for years.

Now, I just had to wait. Wait for Edward to show up, so we could start our new lives together. I smiled.

* * *

It was 7:55 a.m., and I was starting to get a little nervous. What if he was late? I really didn't want to start this new relationship with punishment. What if he changed his mind? What if he didn't show _at all_? I was making myself more worried than I needed to be. I did, after all, tell him 8 a.m. _sharp_, so it was possible he was just following my exact instructions.

Sure enough, at 8 o'clock, there was a knock on my door. My heart started pounding, and I cleared my throat. I needed to focus. I waited a beat or two, not wanting to seem overly anxious.

"Come in."

The door opened slowly, and then, he was standing there. In my doorway. His beauty was shocking to me, every single time I saw him, and it took me a second or two to catch my breath. He was impeccably dressed, as always. Starched black dress shirt, light gray dress slacks with a subtle vertical pattern. That same black belt that I now knew so well.

I realized that I felt complete when he was with me, knowing that he was now mine, and that if I wanted to touch him, I could. That gave me a new sense of comfort and confidence with him.

"Edward," I said. "Come in. Close the door behind you." He swallowed hard, and walked towards my desk. The closer he got to me, the more I realized that he looked different, tired maybe, nervous. One detail that didn't escape my notice was his very obvious erection. He stood in front of my desk, waiting for further instructions. Lovely.

"You may sit." He exhaled a breath he had been holding and sat in one of my guest chairs... actually, the same chair he sat in the previous day, both before and _after _the coffee room incident. He sat tentatively, on the edge of the seat, his hands on his knees, back straight. He was nervous, anxious, and one knee bobbed up and down under his hand.

"You remember what we talked about yesterday?" I started.

"Yes," he answered firmly, nodding his head.

"And I can see," I gestured to his crotch, smiling, "that you took my orders seriously. I assume that huge erection means that there was no release for you since you left my house?"

"No," he said, shaking his head fervently. My smile grew wide. I was feeding on his insecurity. The more nervous he was, the more I felt in control. The fact that he had obeyed such a difficult command, as his first task, well, it impressed me.

"Excellent." I got up from my chair and walked towards him. He sat up slightly straighter, on alert, the closer I got to him. I walked around his chair and stood behind him. I wanted to touch him so badly, to feel his soft skin, his warmth, his hard muscles. I reached up with one hand and ran my fingers through his hair. So soft. He leaned his head back into my hand and moaned softly as I stroked his head. Then, I walked back to my desk and sat down. Time to get down to business.

"First, I need to know if you need this job, financially." He looked at me quizzically.

"Um, no," he replied in that slick, warm voice. "I am..." he looked down at his hands, then back up at me, "financially independent."

So he had money. Interesting. Why was he working here as a bottom-of-the-ladder intern when he could be travelling the world. We would have to get to that.

"Alright. Then I need you to resign. Put in your notice as soon as you leave my office. Today will be your last day. Make up any reason you want, but you will not return." I smiled at him. "I have plans for you that don't include this office." His mouth opened slightly at my suggestion. God, I wanted to stick something in there, anything, just to see him use his mouth again. "Okay?"

"Yes... fine." He nodded nervously.

"I want you to report back to my office at 5 p.m. today. You'll help me carry out my things, and we'll go from there."

He smiled as if he knew a secret and replied to me with a broad smile. "Yes."

"The main thing you need to know is that you belong to me now. You do what I say and when I say it. No hesitation, no questions. You have to trust that I know what's best. That I know what you want, what you need." I paused for a second as our eyes locked. "Do you trust me Edward?"

He didn't answer at first, but then he suddenly realized what I was asking and seemed completely taken aback by my question. He was eager to convince me of his unwavering devotion.

"Oh my God, _yes_, Isabella," he exclaimed. "_Completely_." Interesting. He barely knew me, and yet he was giving himself to me completely.

"And you agree to my terms?" Not that it would matter once he was in the basement, but I was trying something new here.

"Yes."

"Excellent. You'll learn the rest as we go." That was all I really needed to tell him, for now, but I was hesitant to let him out of my sight. What I really wanted was for him to stand in the corner of my office, like a statue, so that I could admire him all day long. Actually, if there was any way that I could have gotten away with it, I might have considered it. "You may leave now, Edward. Remember, 5 o'clock."

"Yes, Isabella. 5 o'clock." And then he rose out of the chair and walked to the door. He turned his head, right at the last minute, and gave me a long look that I couldn't quite comprehend. It looked like desperation and hunger and need.

And then he was gone.

This was going to be a long day.

* * *

Around 2 o'clock, I started to get itchy. I was jumpy and nervous, and I couldn't focus on my work. Thoughts of the previous day were running through my mind... his smell, his skin, his tongue. I needed to get a little taste to make it through the rest of the day.

I turned to my computer and sent him a quick email, telling him I needed him in my office, immediately.

Less than a minute later, he was knocking on my door.

"Come in." I was excited now. It was a different game, and I loved games. Especially where I was the predator, which of course, were _all_ of my games.

He opened the door tentatively and stuck his head in.

"You needed me, Ms. Swan?" He seemed to instinctively know when to keep up the office pretense and when he could let go. I flashed back to my office the previous day when he asked me, basically, the same question, and it had set off a series of aggressive actions on his part. Now, he was compliant, bending to my will. If I thought about that long enough, I would probably realize that _both_ sides of him were interesting to me. But I couldn't comprehend that at this point.

"Yes, Cullen. Come in and close the door," I demanded. "And lock it behind you." His head popped up, and he stared at me, eyes blinking rapidly. He was trying to figure out exactly what I was planning. He closed the door and flipped the lock. It made a loud click that I could hear clearly from my desk.

"Now, come here."

He looked at the floor, then quickly back up, ran a hand through his hair and walked towards me until he was standing in front of my desk.

"No, Edward. _Here_." I gestured for him to come around behind my desk, next to me. He walked around the desk and stood next to me. I was still seated, and he was standing, so his groin was at my eye level. And he was still hard, so hard. Poor baby.

He was still too far away, still unsure of himself, so I reached out and grabbed his belt and pulled until he was only inches away from me. I kept my hand on his belt, my fingers just inside his waistband. I could smell him. I loved the way he smelled.

"Tell me what you want, Edward," I said softly as I slowly moved my fingers against his waist.

His mouth opened and closed a few times as he tried to process my question and formulate some sort of answer. He knew it was a test, but he wasn't sure what the answer was. And I think he was distracted by my hand on his body.

"I..." he mumbled.

"What's that Edward? Speak up." I lowered my hand until my palm completely covered his erection, and I started to rub him, in slow vertical strokes.

"Oh... God..." he moaned. His tongue slipped across his bottom lip, eyes half closed.

"Edward." I said sharply to get his attention. "What do you want?" I asked again, increasing the pressure of my hand, forming my fingers around his thickness. He moaned again, louder this time.

"I want..." he panted. "I want you to... let me come." Fuck, _yes_. I wanted him so badly. It was getting increasingly difficult to control myself around him, and the desperation painted on his face as he begged for his release was only fuel to my fire. I stilled my hand.

"No, Edward. What you _want_ is whatever pleases me. Now, tell me again. What do you want?" I resumed the movements of my hand, and he let out a small, choking sound.

"_I want whatever pleases you, Isabella_." The words rushed out of him in an attempt to placate me, but I noticed that his fists were clenched tightly at his sides. It seemed that he had some issues with control that he was hiding from me. Soon, that would no longer be a problem for him.

I moved up, towards his waistband, and fingered the head of his cock through his pants. He gasped and pushed his hips into my hand. I knew it was reflex, but he would need to learn.

"What pleases me, Edward," I said in a low, suggestive voice, "is your obedience." I slid my hand down, between his legs, stroking the heavy weight of his testicles. I grabbed a handful and squeezed.

"_Jesus_!" he shouted, then quickly shut his mouth, immediately regretting his outburst.

"_Edward_. Quiet. Not in the office," I scolded. "Later, at my house... I'll _want_ to hear you, and you can be as loud as you want." He nodded nervously and hung his head, embarrassed by the reprimand. As he looked down, he was able to watch me in front of him, my hand moving between his legs. I wanted him in my mouth, but not here, not now, not yet.

He moaned again, a long and mournful sound, and it thrilled me. His orgasm, when I finally allowed it, would be one he would never forget.

I removed my hand and sat back in my chair.

"Okay Edward, we're done," I said as I turned back to my computer. "You're dismissed." I wanted nothing more than to strip him naked and explore every inch of his body at my leisure, but I had to be patient. I knew that I would get _exactly_ that in the very near future, and more. Everything I ever wanted.

He didn't move at first. He just stood there, and I felt him staring at me. I'm sure his erection was quite painful at this point, and that he thought he would finally get some relief when I started touching him, but he apparently didn't know me as well as he thought. All good things come to those who wait. Eventually.

Finally, he turned and walked out. I didn't stop him to remind him to meet me at 5. I wanted to see if he remembered, if he obeyed. Everything was a test... every step, every action, every request. But as soon as the door closed behind him, as soon as he was no longer in my presence, that empty feeling returned. Like a piece of me was missing, ripped out. It was almost painful. I wondered if I would ever be able to get enough of him.

* * *

At 5 o'clock, I was all packed up and ready to go. I had everything I needed, and I was looking forward to my plans for the evening. Everything was falling into place nicely. It was Friday, so I would have tonight and then the entire weekend to play, with no interruptions. I was at a stopping point on several projects at work, so it wouldn't be an issue for me to leave at 5, and I wouldn't have to bring work home, as I usually did. I was completely free.

The office was abuzz all afternoon discussing Edward's resignation. It's not as if he was a key player on the staff, but the girls had grown quite fond of looking at him, and they all thought they had a shot. If they only knew what I would be doing with him that very night. But of course, they never would.

A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts.

"Come in," I said as I tried to calm myself.

He walked in the door, and I was immediately amazed at the difference between the cocky, confident Edward who confronted me only yesterday, and the anxious, nervous Edward who stood in front of me today. What happened to that fire, and did I want it back? Or did I _want_ him to be completely pliable and complacent? I would really have to think about that when I was in a different frame of mind, and why it was bothering me. He rubbed his hands nervously on the sides of his thighs as he stood before my desk.

"Edward, grab this box, and let's go." I pointed to a heavy box on the floor, in the corner. He nodded once and walked over. When he bent over to pick it up, his back to me, I paused to admire what was now mine.

He followed me out the door and to the elevator, where we waited in silence until it arrived. We didn't speak, but it didn't seem necessary. We both knew what we wanted, and we had agreed to pursue it. When the elevator doors opened, I was surprised to see so many people already inside - the elevator was always empty when I left at night. Edward and I squeezed inside. He had to put the box down on the floor for us to fit, and then he was pressed in tightly behind me as the doors closed. I felt his body connecting with mine as the elevator descended, his hot breath on my neck, his hard cock pressed against my ass. I flashed back to the dark coffee room, and how rough he had been with me, pushing me onto the counter, taking what he wanted. I was surprised at how this memory made me feel - I should have been angry and plotting my revenge, but instead, I was squeezing my thighs together in an attempt to alleviate the increasing ache.

Half of the elevator emptied when we reached the lobby, but Edward didn't move. He stayed pressed against me, and I let him. I knew what was coming, and he didn't. When we finally reached the lowest parking garage floor, we were the only two left, and as we walked out into the darkness, I thought I saw a small smile on his face. As we approached my car, he seemed to be vibrating with energy, and the smirk was back. He had that look again, that secret look, the one that said that he knew something. I couldn't imagine what he thought he knew, but he seemed pleased about whatever it was.

I popped the trunk and directed him to put the box that he was carrying inside. He gave me a strange look as he set the box down with a thud. He lingered, bent in half, taking his time with the box, like he was waiting for something.

I moved to his side and flipped the power switch on the taser. As I swung my arm up, he turned and looked at me, smiling. He looked almost joyous, like he knew what was coming and welcomed it. I didn't understand, but I didn't have time to really think about it. The taser connected with his body, and, as the current coursed through him, he stared deeply into my eyes, refusing to look away. I quickly sunk the hypodermic needle into his neck and pressed the plunger, releasing the drugs into his neck. I didn't need to hit him again with the taser because he was so cooperative, and after several seconds, he collapsed into the trunk.

I straightened out his body and secured him with the cuffs. I pulled out the duct tape and ripped off a long strip, but when I leaned over to press it across his face, I had to pause and admire what was before me. He was just too pretty. I didn't want to cover up any part of him, especially that luscious mouth, those lips that I have been dying to bite since the first day he walked into my office. I ran a finger across his lips and felt a new stirring in my body. I slipped my finger inside his mouth, feeling the warm, wet texture of his tongue. I dragged my fingernails across his jaw, feeling the hard angles, the warm, soft skin, and the rough of his beard.

I needed to focus and remember where I was. Although this level of the garage was generally deserted, anyone could walk or drive by at any time. I would have plenty of time to touch him, anywhere and everywhere that I wanted, I just needed to wait a little bit longer.

I pressed the gray tape across his mouth and smiled - it looked so good on him, exactly as I had imagined.

_Focus_. Deep breath. I slammed the trunk lid and carefully drove home.

I removed him from the trunk and pulled him down into the basement, all of my actions well-rehearsed and easily executed. I had been doing this for years, and, although it was now _Edward Cullen_ on my hand truck, I was somehow able to temporarily suppress the emotions I felt and simply act.

I laid him out on the bed, and I started securing the cuffs on each corner, tightening them in turn, until he was completely immobile.

Now, all I had to do was wait. Wait for him to wake up and realize where he was. This would be a major turning point in the evening. If he fought me, would I let him go? Or would I keep him anyway, as I have with all the others?

I sat on the edge of the bed and slowly examined him with my eyes, my hands, my fingers. I was saving my mouth and tongue for later, after I had removed his clothes. My hand slid easily between his sleeping legs to see if he was still as hard as he had been earlier, and he was. He actually moaned a little as I touched him, and his cock seemed to harden a little bit more. He was reacting to my touch, even in his unconscious state. I smiled.

After a while, he started to wake up. His breathing was not as deep, and he was trying to move his limbs. He made little noises and movements of his face. I sat, attentively, on the edge of the bed, and waited.

He was pulling at the cuffs, but he hadn't yet realized why he couldn't move. His brow was furrowed, confused.

And then his eyes started to blink. Once. Twice. And open. Still not really seeing, just taking in.

"Edward! You're finally awake," I said cheerfully. He turned his head slowly to look at me, trying to see through the last effects of the drugs.

He tried to answer me, but the tape on his mouth prevented him. I ripped it off with one quick movement, and he screamed.

"Isabella?" he shouted, eyes blinking rapidly. Another attempt to move his arms, his legs, but this time, something clicked. He felt the bindings at his wrists and ankles, and lifted his head to look at them. He pulled again, hard, then whipped his head back towards me. "What... what's happening, what's going on? Where am I? Why am I-" He was rambling. I had to stop him. Did he not realize what he had agreed to?

"Edward, shhh," I said calmly as I stroked his left arm. "You're in my basement. You're mine now." And with that I smiled.

He seemed to understand my words, and he stilled. But his eyes were fully open and staring.

"First things first. We need to get these clothes off," I said as I held up the large silver scissors so that he could see them. His eyes stretched wider, and I saw movement in his throat as he swallowed hard. "Don't worry, my sweet. These scissors are only for cutting clothing," I snickered. "They won't hurt you." I lifted the scissors to his face and pressed the blades to his jaw, letting him feel the cold metal against his skin. He flinched a little at the sensation, but calmed as I ran them lightly across his lips, his chin, his throat, his arm.

I slid the scissors under the cuff of his sleeve and started to cut. The cool blade slid up his arm and to his neck, the point pressing into his flesh. I repeated the action on his other arm, and then removed the pieces of his shirt with quick movements. His bare upper torso was now exposed to me, and I was aching to explore. Later. After I finished my work.

I dragged the scissors down his chest, watching red marks form in my wake. I unbuckled his belt and let my hand brush against his groin, and I was rewarded with a soft groan. I continued down his body until I was at his feet, removing his shoes and socks. Everything on Edward was sexy and arousing to me, even his feet. He had beautiful feet.

I slid the scissors under the hem of his pants leg and cut slowly upwards, until I reached the bare skin of his waist. Again on the other leg, and then the cutting was complete. I peeled open the pieces of clothing, slowly this time, enjoying the unveiling, until he was bare except for his tight dark boxers. His erection was stretching the fabric to its limit, and it was a beautiful sight. I could have kept him just like this for a while, but I was anxious to have him completely naked, so I pressed the scissors against him one last time, and removed his last piece of clothing.

There he was. Edward Cullen.

Naked.

Bound.

And in my basement.

Everything I had ever wanted.

Now, it was time to play.

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**A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long, but I hope it was worth the wait. Thanks, as always, to my best friend and beta, LibbyLou862, without whom "Trunk Boy" would not exist. :)**

**Disclaimer: All things "Twilight" belong to Stephanie Meyer. "Trunk Boy," however, is all mine.**


	19. Chapter 19

******WARNING: This story contains disturbing and sometimes violent material, as well as graphic sexual content. If violence bothers you, please do not read this story.**

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**CHAPTER 19**

"You want this, don't you, Edward."

It was not a question. It was a statement of fact. I knew he wanted to be exactly where he was, and that only added to my excitement. It was a little strange for me, actually, a new experience. It never really occurred to me before to care if my guests _wanted_ to be with me or not. Actually, I rather enjoyed their discomfort. I think that was the point... with _them_.

But with Edward, well, it was different.

Knowing that he wanted me, that he wanted to be with me, that he wanted to give me everything I wanted in _exactly_ the way I wanted it... it was different. It was _better_.

I had my hand on his cheek, my thumb stroking his skin. He looked so beautiful in my basement, stretched and tied, displayed for me and only me. I could have spent hours poring over every inch of his naked form, but I was looking at his face now, his eyes. I wanted to see if he would speak, what he would say.

I didn't really need for him to answer me. It was obvious how he felt about the situation, about me - his huge erection told me everything I needed to know.

I rubbed my thumb across his bottom lip, as I had done before, and he parted his lips for me with a soft moan. His eyes were half-closed with what I assumed was lust. I wanted to see the beautiful green, but this excited me, and it told me so much more about him. I moved my thumb a little deeper into his mouth, and I could feel the warm wetness just inside. He reacted immediately and wrapped his lips around it, sucking it gently into his mouth.

_Fucking hell_.

It felt amazing to be in his mouth. It was as if the nerves in my thumb were directly routed between my legs, and I was wet and aching in seconds.

"Yes," I groaned as he licked and sucked at my skin, hungry and determined. He drew my thumb deeply into his mouth, lifting his head slightly to take it all in, then pulling back to release me, increasing the pressure with his soft lips, using his tongue and his teeth. Back and forth. In and out. The sensation was incredible, and I was mesmerized, just watching him.

It suddenly occurred to me that he was, in essence, fellating my thumb, and I had to wonder why he was so skilled at this particular act.

I removed my thumb from his mouth with a soft pop, and he seemed reluctant to let it go. He reached up with his mouth like a hungry bird, trying to taste me again, but I had pulled quickly away, smiling at his eagerness.

"Such a good boy," I murmured softly, running my fingers across his cheek and then gently through his hair. "Tell me, Edward, where did you learn to do that?"

He looked at me, a little confused. Was he unsure if he should speak or not? I raised my eyebrows, indicating that I was waiting for an answer, then waited patiently.

"Um," he said with a rough voice. He cleared his throat and continued. "Where did I learn to do what?"

My smile widened. He was going to be so much fun.

"Sucking my thumb like that. It was very reminiscent of a certain sexual act, one that most men are usually not experienced in performing."

He continued to look at me with that vacant stare, completely oblivious of what I was talking about. I gave him a minute or so, and then I explained.

"Sucking cock, Edward," I said bluntly, eliminating my smile. I wanted him to take me seriously. "Have you? Sucked cock, I mean. You were quite good with my thumb." I gestured to his mouth, and what he just did with it.

His expression was blank for a few seconds, and then he realized what I was saying and he reacted, quite violently. Well, as violently as one can when one is completely bound and immobile.

"_What?" _He pulled at his bindings, trying desperately to move, the soft leather of the cuffs creaking as he pulled, the bindings holding firm. He looked completely mortified, shocked that I would question him on this subject.

"Have you ever sucked a man's cock before? It's a simple question, yes or no." I removed my hand from his hair and placed it on his thigh, the one closest to me. He flinched slightly at my touch and drew in a quick breath. I started to stroke his thigh, very softly, moving a little deeper between his legs with each pass.

He opened his mouth to speak, but he seemed to be distracted by the actions of my hand. His eyes closed again, and he was making a very slight noise, a breathy, soft groaning noise. Almost too soft to be heard.

"Edward." He opened his eyes and looked at me, nervous and desperate. "Answer me." My knuckles brushed against his testicles, and his hips flexed up to meet my hand. As I pulled my hand back, I scraped my nails against the tender skin there, just hard enough to get his attention.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, then waited several seconds before answering my question. "Yeah."

This was not what I wanted.

"Edward, there is no question that I will _ever_ ask you where the appropriate answer is 'Yeah.'" I stopped my hand and pinched some tender skin between two fingers, holding it firm. "Yes, or No, please." He ran his tongue along his lips, very quickly. Again, several seconds elapsed.

"Yes."

_Lovely_. This would work for me. I eased my hand back over his thigh until it was deep between his legs, moving slowly up the middle, lightly grazing his scrotum, then up the shaft of his hard cock. Once there, I wrapped my hand around the base and tightened my grip. He cursed yet again, this time a bit louder.

"Very good. Now, tell me, Edward. What _exactly_ did you do?" I stroked his cock once, my closed fist moving up, a quick stroke across the wet head, then back down to the base. He moved his hips towards me again, hungry for what I could do for him, but it would not be that easy - he would have to work for it. He was breathing in quick, shallow pants, his nostrils flaring, and he was blinking rapidly. He was nervous. "Tell me," I whispered. I squeezed the base of his cock tightly, and he yelled out for the first time that night.

"Edward. _Tell me_. _Now_." My tone had changed, and I was losing patience. I didn't want to have to hurt him so soon in the evening. I had a lot planned, and I wanted to make sure that he would endure. I wanted him for more than just this one night. I increased the pressure even further with my hand. I could see his stomach moving rapidly now as he breathed, and Jesus Christ, did that make me hot. I wanted to spend a significant amount of time there. Later.

I decided to wait him out, saying nothing more, keeping my hand tightly wrapped around him, my eyes blazing into his. Eventually, he caved.

"I..." he started, nervously. He licked his lips and closed his eyes. I remained silent.

"It was ... a few years ago," he started. I stopped him there.

"Stop. That's not what I want to hear." He opened his eyes and looked at me, obviously confused. He thought he was giving me what I wanted.

"Start with your mouth, and tell me what you did with it." He looked at me blankly for a minute, then released a breath he had been holding. He knew what I wanted to hear now, and that was going to be considerably harder for him. Or, at least, I assumed it would be harder. I had no idea what his history was or what he was comfortable with. It took him almost a minute to start speaking.

"I, um, used my mouth and ... kissed his... uh..." he faltered, unable to spit out the word that he knew I wanted to hear him say.

"His _what_, Edward?" I asked harshly. "What did you kiss? Say the word, I want to hear it." I released my fingers slightly, then tightened them again, just to give him a bit of focus. The head of his cock was almost purple now. He moaned again, the volume increasing with my grip.

"His ... _cock_. I kissed his cock." He said the words quickly, and then screwed his eyes shut, unable to look at me. I leaned over him and brushed my mouth across the head of his erection for a quick kiss, my lips now wet with his issue. His eyes popped open, my mouth unexpected for him, and I raised my head to look at him.

"Was that it, Edward? You kissed it once and stopped?"

His stared at my mouth, my wet lips, for a moment, blinked a few times, and then answered me.

"No."

He still didn't get it.

"And what did you do next?" I sighed heavily. "Don't make me keep asking, Edward." I was still leaning over his body, and my face was hovering over him. If he moved his hips up quickly, he would touch me.

"I... I used my tongue." He looked at me for encouragement, and I parted my lips, waiting.

"I put my tongue at the bottom of it and ... uh ... licked up to the top." He was still hesitating, but the words were coming out a little easier now.

I leaned down again and pressed my tongue to the base of his hard cock, then ran my tongue slowly up to the head and stopped.

"Fuck ... yeah," he moaned loudly as I tasted him. He suddenly opened his eyes wide and looked at me, with some sort of realization. I think he was finally getting how this worked.

"And then," he offered, without prompting this time, his voice a little lower, a little deeper. "I licked all the way around the head."

"Like this?" I asked as I ran my tongue around the head of his cock, then repeated the action a second time. "Is this what you did, Edward?" And I licked around the head of his dick again.

"Fuck, yeah ... I mean ... yes." He leaned his head back and took a deep breath. He squirmed a little, trying to determine how much play there was in his bindings, but I knew what I was doing - his limbs were immobile.

"And?"

"And then I pulled the entire head into my mouth... sucked and licked on it a little." The tone of his voice was changing. He sounded a little more confident, a little more like the cocky Edward from the coffee room, the one who knew what he wanted and took it, the one who gave _me_ orders.

I took the cue from him and pressed my lips to the head of his cock. I slowly opened my mouth and used soft suction to draw the head inside, wrapping my lips around him, pulling him wetly in and out of my mouth a few times. Then, I used my tongue to lick across the top and all the way around. I repeated that a few times. He was moaning loudly now, his hips grinding upward in rhythmic circles.

He didn't wait for me to ask for him to continue this time, or even for me to finish what I was doing. He knew the game now, and he wanted more. I would give him a little more, but he wouldn't get what he really wanted.

"And then I took the whole thing in my mouth, pulled it in deep, all the way to the back of my throat." I thought I saw the corner of his mouth twitching a little, like he wanted to smile that cocky smirk of his, but he was trying to hold it back, afraid of being over-confident.

I liked compliant Edward.

But I liked cocky Edward too.

And right now, I was getting both.

I was still holding his erection tightly in my hand, and I stared deep into the green of his eyes as I pulled his hard, throbbing cock towards my mouth with a smile. His eyes widened and his breathing quickened, his anticipation and hunger building. I swiped my tongue across the head and made a nice noise for him, a rumbling, delicious, purring noise, and he lost his focus. He dropped his head back to the bed, arching his back and thrusting his hips towards my mouth. He cursed loudly as he did this, but I pulled back quickly.

"Oh, I don't think so, Edward," I said slowly with a smile and a chuckle. Then I made sure he was listening. "I can bind you so tightly and completely that you won't be able to move a single hair on your head." I grinned at him, and I could tell that he felt the change in the room, falling back to the bed. "Or maybe you would like that, my pretty little boy." I stood up and climbed up on the bed, positioning myself between his legs, on my knees. That would be the _only_ time he would ever see me on my knees. The _boys_ were on their knees, not me. Not _ever_. I placed one hand on each thigh, right where they met his body, and using my full body weight, I pressed him down hard, into the bed.

"Now, let's try this again, shall we?" I said in that tone that he was quickly becoming familiar with. It was deceptively pleasant, but with an undercurrent that made you pay attention. "If you _still_ can't restrain yourself, even with my help, well... then, I'll have to get the rope." I smiled at him again and changed my tone to something a little more menacing. "And the _only_ thing that won't be completely bound with rope will be your mouth, your dick, and your ass. And trust me when I say that I will be _merciless_, Edward. You will beg, and you will scream." I let that sink in for a moment, and I saw his throat move as he swallowed thickly. He understood, but because I knew that he really wanted it, it was different. There was still fear, but only fear of the unknown. Not necessarily fear of _me_.

He was completely still as I leaned down and took his cock in my mouth again. I wrapped my hand around him tightly, and sucked him down to the back of my throat, just as he had described. He lifted his head from the mattress and took in the scene before him, then groaned loudly and let his head fall back again.

I pulled up and flicked my tongue across the head before speaking.

"Now, where were we, Edward? What did you do next to your little boy toy?" It took him a minute to regroup, to remember the game, but his discomfort at describing his past actions was outweighed by his desire for my mouth on him, and he continued his story.

"Uh... then I just... I, um, sucked him in and out of my mouth... until he came."

"He came in your mouth?" I asked him curiously. I wanted him to tell me this part in more detail, I wanted to hear him say it. I gave him a quick stroke with my hand as encouragement, and he groaned loudly. I was starting to become addicted to his groans and was anxious to hear what other noises he would make.

"Fuck... yeah ... he came in my mouth." He was panting, and I could feel him trying to move his hips under my hands. He was driving me crazy, and I was going to need to come soon. As soon as I had heard all of his little story.

"And did you swallow, Edward? Did you swallow all of his hot come?" I squeezed the base of his cock again, the head returning to that angry purplish color. "_Fucking tell me_," I growled, and I squeezed him a little tighter.

He screamed. But it was a combination of pain and desperation, and I knew I had a lot further to go with him, that I could push him.

"Yes!" he yelled. "He came in my mouth, and I fucking swallowed it all!" His eyes were closed again and his jaw was clenched. It was a painful admission for him, but it was all over. He didn't know that, however.

"Very nice, Edward," I murmured, quickly taking his entire length into my mouth, pumping him fast and hard. He moaned loud and long.

"Oh, God, yes... please... please... please." The words tumbled out of his mouth and then quickly disappeared into a mix of desperate pleas.

He was begging me, and it was exactly what I wanted. He would still not get what he wanted, but he was right where I needed him to be.

I sucked him in and out of my mouth a few more times, then lifted up to remind him of the rules.

"Remember what I said, Edward. Do not come until I give permission." I paused to let that sink in, and then I buried him again in my mouth, my lips and tongue working his hard cock with each stroke.

"Oh fuck... yeah, I remember... but please, Isabella... please..." He was pulling at his bindings again, trying desperately not to move his hips, but not succeeding. But it was fine. I was working with him now, getting into a nice little rhythm... my mouth, his hips, his cock.

I popped off again.

"Tell me when you're getting close, Edward." And back in my mouth. I started using my teeth now, softly scraping his length with each upstroke, and he screamed loudly again as he felt this new sensation. I was so fucking wet. I was anxious now to finish with him, so that I could get mine.

It didn't take long. The combination of an experienced mouth, lips, tongue, and teeth, and he was teetering at the brink.

"Isabella, oh God... I'm close... I can't hold it, I can't... Jesus, I'm gonna come... oh please, please, please." Mmm. I loved that new tone to his voice. But I knew what it meant, and I released my mouth and squeezed him tightly again with my hand, deep at the base of his cock.

"_FUCK_!" he screamed. "No! Oh God, no... please Isabella, please let me come, please... I'll do anything, please..."

"Oh, I know you'll do anything, pretty boy." I held him tightly, waiting for the imminent urge to subside a little before I continued. "You are _mine_ now... did you not realize what that entailed?"

He was panting, that fucking hot stomach quivering in front of me, and nodding his head with his eyes tightly shut.

"Look at me, Edward. Open your eyes," I ordered. He complied quickly, and as I stared into the beautiful green, I was overcome with what I saw there, the emotion. It confirmed everything I ever thought, since the first time I saw him. That he would be mine one day. That he _was_ mine now, in every way, exactly how I wanted him. And that he wanted it. Just as I did. My equal. My fucking _equal_. What I had searched for my entire life.

_Fuck_.

It was an emotional moment for me, but I couldn't let him see it, not yet, at least. I blinked quickly several times and took a long, deep breath. I had to focus.

I don't think he saw the momentarily lapse in my control, but he did seem to have calmed somewhat. His cock, although painfully erect, was no longer purple and twitching. I released my hold on him, and he let out a loud breath.

"So good, Edward. So good," I purred and scratched his thigh. "I have to tell you... that little story of yours, well, it got me really hot, really wet." His expression changed slightly. Less disappointment and desperation. More curiosity and hunger. "Would you like to see?"

He sucked in a quick breath and answered quickly, his eyes wide again.

"God... yes."

I climbed off the bed and quickly removed my shoes and my skirt. He was watching me intently, and I made sure to stand where he could see me clearly from his spot on the bed.

I unbuttoned my shirt and let it fall to the ground. He had never seen me without clothing before, just skirtless yesterday in my living room. Now I stood before him in my bra and panties, simple elegant pieces, a dark taupe satin with very few embellishments. I also wore taupe thigh-high stockings, because thigh-highs never got in the way of anything I wanted to do, and the color matched the outfit I wore that day.

I left the bra and stockings on, but I slipped the panties down my legs, to the floor. I was bare before him, but he had seen me the day previous and had touched me the day before that.

I climbed back up on the bed, straddling him mid-torso. I could feel his hips moving again, trying to touch me where he needed to touch me, but it wasn't time for that yet. He could gyrate all he wanted to now.

I reached out and touched his face with my fingertips. He turned his head, trying to get them in his mouth again, but I pulled back.

"You want something to taste, my sweet? I'll give you a taste." I slid my fingers between the bare lips of my pussy and wet them until they were slick. It didn't take much. I was fucking dripping after teasing his cock and listening to him scream for me.

I brought my fingers to his mouth, wetting his lips with my arousal, and then quickly pulled back. He lifted his head again, trying to grab my fingers, but I was too fast.

"Lick your lips, Edward... taste me." I was getting caught up now, my hunger growing quickly. I would be unable to tease and play much longer, I would need my release.

His eyes darkened as he darted his tongue out and swiped it across his lips. I watched his tongue disappear back into his mouth, taking in my taste for the second time.

"Fuck, yeah..." he moaned. "More ... please ... please, Isabella, let me taste you... please." He was saying "please" a lot now, and I found that I quite liked it. It suited him, the begging. His hips were moving continuously behind me. I don't think he could help it at this point. His body was so desperate for release, and he was doing anything he could to achieve it.

I brought my hand back to his mouth, my fingers close enough for him to reach this time, and he quickly closed the gap between us and wrapped his lips around my fingers. He sucked on them, not so gently this time, and his enthusiasm got the better of me. I moaned for him_,_ and he almost smiled again, pleased with himself for being responsible for my pleasure.

That was it, enough.

I pulled my fingers out of his mouth and grabbed the top of the headboard with both hands. I moved up his body until I was kneeling over his face, one thigh on either side of his head. When he looked up, which he did, all he could see was wet, hot pussy. Once situated, I moved my hands to his head, filled my fingers with his soft, beautiful hair and pulled tightly, increasing the pressure until he made the noise that I wanted. _Fuck, yeah_, as he would say.

I lowered myself until I was touching his mouth.

"Use your tongue, Edward," I said somewhat breathlessly. "Fucking make me _come_."

Oh God, that immediate sensation of his warm, wet tongue inside me. What was this man doing to me? No one had ever made me feel like this before. It scared me a little, but I pushed that to the side and concentrated on the physical, on the feel of his mouth, his lips, and, holy shit, that fucking talented tongue of his.

This was not going to take long.

I ground myself on his face, pulling him up by his hair, wanting more and more of him. He was growling now beneath me, and fuck, I was close.

"Yes, Edward, yes... just like that... yes, right there... don't fucking stop." I was panting now. I had closed my eyes at some point, but I forced them open and looked down. _Jesus_. That was it. The sight of him looking up at me, his mouth buried between my legs, his face slick and shiny, and that fucking _sound_ he was making while he devoured me.

"Fuck!" I screamed as I started to come, pulling harder on his hair, the waves of my orgasm crashing through me, one after another, my legs starting to shake with the effort to stay upright. I pulled at his hair and held his mouth closely to me for another few seconds, and then it was too much, and I let go. He didn't move, however, and I had to push his head back to the bed. His mouth was still open, his tongue still out and searching. _That_ image would stay with me for a while.

This was working out better than I could have possibly imagined.

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**A/N: Thanks to Mabarbarella, my personal dirty-talking h00r, for inspiring pretty much the _entire _blowjob scene. She fed me thoughts and lines that got more and more, um, interesting, and eventually led to the longest blowjob in Fanfic history. Okay, maybe not all of Fanfic. Maybe just this story. :)**

**Thanks also, and _always_, to my best friend and beta, LibbyLou862, who actually hasn't edited this chapter yet because she went to the beach for the weekend and I was too anxious to get it posted! I actually printed a copy for her to take with her... talk about trashy beach reads! Anyway, if you notice any glaring errors in plot, form, grammar, verb tense, or punctuation, lemme know. She's gonna get her red pen out when she gets back and we'll fix them all.**

**Sorry this chapter took so long. It's probably going to take me a while to get each chapter out from now on just because I can only write when the muse hits me. So please stick with me!**

**Lastly, I'm absolutely _desperate _for validation and human, albeit electronic, interaction, so please leave me a review and let me know what you think! If you have questions about anything, PM me - I would LOVE it.**

**Disclaimer: All things "Twilight" belong to Stephanie Meyer. "Trunk Boy," however, is all mine.**


	20. Chapter 20

**************WARNING: This story contains disturbing and sometimes violent material, as well as graphic sexual content. If violence bothers you, please do not read this story.**

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**Chapter 20**

I sat back on his chest and took a few deep breaths.

_Amazing fucking orgasm_. My second from Edward in as many days, and both from his tongue alone. _Damn_.

It took me a couple of minutes, but once I felt that I had control of my limbs again, I climbed carefully off the bed and walked over to the mini-fridge. I grabbed a bottle of water and walked back to the bed. Edward was still firmly tied down, spread-eagled on his back. And naked. So beautifully naked. I had so many ideas about what I wanted to do next. He was truly inspiring in that way. I couldn't imagine that I would ever grow tired of him.

I sat back on the edge of the bed and stroked his hair a couple of times, more tenderly than I should have, and noted that his face was still wet from my orgasm. I thought about grabbing a towel and cleaning him up, but I decided against it. I liked seeing the evidence of my arousal on him. He was still wild with need, constantly pulling at his arms and legs, desperate to touch something, or have something touch him. The cold wetness on his face was a nice reminder - it kept him exactly where I needed him to be.

I tapped my finger twice under his chin. He flinched slightly at my touch.

"Open."

He opened his mouth obediently, and I couldn't help but stare for a second or two, my eyes frozen to his lips, his tongue, remembering how it felt moving inside me only minutes ago. I poured a small amount of water in.

"Swallow."

I repeated this a few times, making sure he was well-hydrated, and took a few sips for myself. I think it was safe for us to share a bottle of water, considering. I didn't think he would mind germs from my mouth, I thought to myself, chuckling. He looked at me, cocking his head a little to the side, trying to figure out what I was thinking, what made me smile so suddenly. I'm sure he thought it was something perverse.

"More?" I asked. He shook his head, no.

I took one last, long swallow myself, then I put the cap back on the bottle and returned it to the fridge. I paused there for a moment, my back to Edward. I knew I couldn't turn around and face him just yet. I couldn't let him see what he was doing to me. I closed my eyes and took a long, deep breath. Once I felt that I had regained my focus, my control, I turned to face him, smiling.

"Alright, Edward. Let's continue, shall we?" I sounded more confident than I felt, and I almost lost it when I saw the look in his eyes. He made another little groaning noise, mumbling softly under his breath. I think I heard him say "please" a few times.

I walked to the wall storage unit and opened one of the drawers. I quickly retrieved the items I wanted and walked back to the bed, sitting once again, on the edge, between his left arm and leg. I had to touch him, to connect with him physically, and I fingered the ink on his bicep as I spoke. It was a surprisingly cliche barbed wire tattoo, but still incredibly sexy. As I stroked his skin, I found that it calmed me, and I felt my confidence returning.

"You had a close call earlier tonight, didn't you, Edward?" He barely processed what I was saying, didn't even realize that I had asked him a question. He was so insane with need and his inability to achieve any kind of relief. I traced one of the ink barbs with my fingernail and watched as raised red marks appeared, shadowing their faded black counterparts. I wanted to lick them. Slowly. Thoroughly. Taste the salt of his sweat, the sweetness of his pain.

"When I had that big, hard cock of yours in my mouth, remember?" His wild eyes snapped to mine, his mouth gaping and gasping. I knew that he _needed_ the control that I had over him, and it seemed to inflame him when I talked dirty.

"_God_, yes... I remember... so good, so good..." he breathed.

"Mmm, yes, it _was_ quite good. But you got a little close, didn't you? A little _too_ close," I grinned at him. "You almost came in my mouth."

He closed his eyes, remembering the feel of my mouth on him and the burning feeling in his belly, and his hips started to move again.

"That would have been a big mistake, Edward. I've already explained the rules to you. And you've agreed to them."

He was nodding now, nodding continuously, agreeing with everything I was saying. Hoping that I would eventually get to the part where I would let him come.

"But we don't want another close call like that, do we, love? Not on your first night as my guest. So I'm going to help you out a little." His expression looked suddenly crestfallen, as if I had just rejected him. I think he realized that his imminent orgasm was not so imminent.

I had a small bottle of lube in my hand, the self-warming kind, and I popped the cap open with my thumb. I poured a generous amount into the palm of my hand and snapped the lid shut. I wanted him to watch me, so I held my hands where he could see them, and slowly rubbed them together, the slickness spreading easily and evenly across my hands. His eyes grew wide, and he quickly licked his lips. He was wondering what was next, if he could even imagine it. I'm sure he thought that what I was doing to him was torture of some kind, but he had no idea what _real_ torture was, this was his choice. He had _chosen_ to be in this room with me. That changed _everything_.

I took his erection in my hands and started spreading the wetness evenly across his skin, soft over hard, like warm, wet velvet. As my fingers wrapped around his width, he reacted immediately, his cock twitching and hardening, weeping from the tip. I used both hands, twisting and pulling, and he let out a long mournful moan, pushing his hips deeper into my hands. This time, I let him, because it didn't really matter. He could thrust against me as much as he wanted, and he still wouldn't be allowed to come. But instead, I would give him so much more.

I watched his face and waited for my moment, and it came after only a few seconds. He was losing himself in the sensation of my slick hands on his skin, letting his body lapse into a false sense of confidence about the immediate future. His eyes closed, and he thrust into my hands again, letting his head fall back to the mattress.

Then, before he knew what was happening, I slipped the soft rubber cock ring over the glans and slid it it all the way down. Snug against his body, at the base of his erection. His reaction was immediate.

"_No!" _he cried. _"Fuck_!" He cursed and twitched and tried to move his hips in such a way as to dislodge the ring, but it was firmly in place. It must have been a somewhat uncomfortable sensation for him, or perhaps it was simply because he knew what a cock ring was used for, and he knew that I needed him hard and throbbing for a while longer tonight. He was whimpering and started to plead with me again.

"Oh my God... _please_, Isabella... _please_ don't do this to me... _Jesus_... please, I swear, I'll..." He didn't finish his sentence, but he didn't need to. The pleading tone in his voice stirred something deep inside of me, and it thrilled me knowing that I would hear so much more of it before the night ended.

"Patience, sweet boy," I purred, as I stroked his hair again. "Patience."

I climbed up off the bed and walked to the storage cabinet for the second time that night. I quickly dried my hands on a soft, cotton cloth, and then pulled what I wanted from the drawer. The metal links of the tiny chain clinked softly as I walked back to the bed.

I sat back down on the bed and stroked his chest, again drawn to the ink there, a mysterious Asian symbol. My touch was light, my fingertips just barely grazing his skin, and as I started to circle his nipples, he groaned and arched his back into my hand.

"Hmm. Does that feel good, Edward?" I increased the pressure of my fingers, scratching lightly with my nails. His nipples were becoming as erect as his cock.

He didn't answer immediately, so I scratched him again, hard enough this time, apparently, to elicit a response.

"_Yes_... oh God, yes... please..."

I pinched one nipple between my thumb and forefinger, squeezing hard, twisting and pulling. His entire body lifted off the bed as he screamed and clenched his bound hands into tight fists.

"You like it when it hurts a little, hmm? Don't you?" I whispered in his ear, pinching him again, harder still.

"_Yes_!" he screamed, "oh God... please... please ..."

"Please, _what_, Edward? Tell me what you want." I needed to hear his voice, hear him beg me for what he wanted. He started to speak immediately, but then stopped himself, reconsidering his response.

"I want... I want whatever pleases you, Isabella," he said with another thrust of his hips. I smiled at him, at his obvious effort. He was only doing as I had asked him, but it was my game, and I could change the rules if I wanted to.

"Oh, that's very sweet, Edward. Very sweet." I continued to pinch and stroke his nipples, alternating between the two. "But this time, I really want to hear it. I want to hear the words. _Tell me what you really want_."

"_Jesus_," he whispered softly, then clearing his throat and speaking in a breathless voice. "I want you to touch me, please... oh God, just please... don't stop touching me... I want... I _need_ your... pain... I need you to let me come... please... please..."

_Beautiful_.

I held his nipple tightly in my fingers and quickly applied the clamp I had grabbed from the cabinet. It was one of the smaller, weaker clips that I owned, but he howled loudly as the tiny jaws closed on his sensitive skin. I couldn't help thinking how hot he would look with a piercing there.

"Good boy," I cooed, "such a good, good boy for me."

Then, before he could think about what I was doing, I applied the second clamp, and I was rewarded with an even louder scream that seem to land right between my legs. He had made me come only minutes earlier, and I was wet and ready for him again.

He was breathing heavily, panting, his stomach quivering with each deep breath. He was trying to adjust to the sensations in his body, trying to blend the pain with the pleasure.

"There now. How's that? Is that what you wanted, my sweet?" The tiny chain was already connected to each clamp, and I gave it a quick tug to punctuate my question. He answered promptly, his scream filling the small room. I stroked his face again, searching his eyes for any sign that I had gone too far. He was important to me, and I wanted this to be good for him, for him to remember. But all I could see was fire, green fire.

I quickly positioned myself on top of him, straddling his torso, my need growing quickly now. I could feel him moving beneath me, trying to get inside me. I pulled the fabric of my bra down, exposing my breasts to him for the first time, and I started to squeeze and pull at my own nipples while he watched me, in rapt attention. I leaned forward, rubbing my nipples against his clamped ones, and I whispered into his ear.

"I'm going to fuck you now, Edward. Do you want that? Do you want me to fuck you hard, baby?" I sat back up and started grinding into him, my warm wetness spreading across his stomach. He was lifting himself against me, trying so hard to touch as much of me as he could.

"Yes... oh God, yes... _please_."

"Then say it, Edward. Beg me to fuck you," and I pulled on the chain again, just to hear him scream. "_Beg me_." He was moaning loudly now, and moving his body as much as he could, considering his bindings. His chest was arching off the mattress, his hips grinding and thrusting emptily into the air.

"Please, Isabella... _please_... fuck me, please... God... I need you so badly... I need to feel you, to be inside you... please... _please_..."

As I listened to him beg, I found that I needed him as much as he needed me. And I wanted to make him feel good, to comfort him, which confused the hell out of me. I lifted up, grabbed his cock in one hand, and rubbed the tip back and forth between my legs, coating it in my wetness.

"Mmm, yes," I moaned with him, "feel that, Edward? That's how wet I am for you..." And then I pushed him slowly inside me, sinking down, until I could feel the cock ring pressing against my skin.

"Oh God, yes... yes... yes..." he moaned as I buried him deep inside me.

I lifted up, tightening my muscles around him, and I pulled slightly on the chain. And he screamed. As I found my rhythm, so did he... moaning, then screaming, moaning, and screaming. After only a few minutes, the combination was too much for me, and I started to fuck him hard, rubbing my swollen clit against the rubber ring with each stroke.

Right before I came, I pulled hard on the nipple chain, and he screamed loudly and thrust hard into me, grinding his cock deep inside me. He could feel my orgasm, my body pulsing and squeezing his erection tightly, but he was physically unable to release just yet. It had nothing to do with self-control - he had none left. Only the control that I applied, the ring, which remained in place and effective.

I climbed off of his body, and he sucked in a breath as my warm body left his. I just loved it when they were desperate like this. Relying completely on me for everything.

I gave him a few more sips of water, then grabbed a few last items from the wall cabinet. It was getting late, and he was clearly exhausted. I'm sure that I was overdoing it, his first night here, but I couldn't seem to stop myself. I wanted him, I wanted everything, and I wanted it now. I needed for him to show me how much he needed me, to prove to me that he meant what he said to me yesterday, in this very room. That this could work.

I returned to his side.

"I'm going to move you around a bit," I said thoughtfully, assessing the best way to get him into his next position. I had never put the shock collar on him, as I never thought it to be necessary, so I would be relying on his cooperation during this move. "I assume that you won't give me any trouble, will you, Edward? If you do, I will handle it, but I would much prefer that things between us remain as pleasant as possible." I smiled at him with sweet menace. "_For now_."

"Yes... yes... anything... just... _please_." Jesus, that voice. He was getting a little hoarse now, a little deeper, throatier, but it just sounded that much sexier to me. I thought about recording it, so I could hear it whenever I wanted to, but then I remembered that he was mine now. That I could hear him, that I could make him beg for me, anytime that I wanted.

I loosened the ropes attached to his ankle cuffs, just enough to bend his legs at the knees. He didn't try to move or pull away, which reinforced his earlier claim, that he wanted to be what I needed. He let me arrange him, slipping the straps under his knees, attaching the ropes, and then securing the ropes to the headboard. As soon as everything was connected, I started to take up the slack, tightening the ropes until he was pulled into position.

The knee straps pulled his legs back and open, and the ankle cuffs kept his feet immobile. I had wanted to see him like this from the first minute I laid eyes on him. And now he was mine. _Mine_.

I slipped a heavy blindfold over his eyes, and I was ready to begin. I would have loved to have gagged him, or at least covered his mouth with a strip of duct tape, but I needed to hear him. He made the loveliest noises.

The blindfold removed his ability to see, blocking one of his key senses, and I planned to use that to my advantage. I wanted him to be surprised with each new touch, every sensation. He would feel everything so much more this way.

I climbed back onto the bed, between his legs. Jesus, he was so open for me.

I stroked his thighs, scratching lightly with my nails, moving closer and closer to his cock with each pass. This new position didn't allow him much movement, but he could still move his hips, flexing upward. He was moaning non-stop now, a litany of soft words, whispered pleas. I ran my nails up his scrotum, hearing his loud hiss, watching the skin contract with my touch. Then up his hard cock, swirling the tip of my finger across the wet, swollen head, the color deepening rapidly. I wrapped my hand around his width and stroked him a few times, tight and slow, just enough to tease him.

I popped the cap on the lube again, and I had to wonder if he recognized the sound this time. His head turned slightly towards me in curiosity, but as he felt my wet fingers moving slowly between his legs, he stopped breathing, anticipating.

I skimmed across his back entrance and felt him tighten against me.

"Breathe, Edward... keep breathing," I said softly.

Slow circles, slow passes, waiting. Each time I felt him relax a little, I would press a little harder, and he would tighten his muscles again. I grabbed his cock with my other hand and started stroking him again, slow and hard, pressing my finger inside him a little deeper each time. His body was reacting, trying to keep me out, but his actions just pulled me inside. He seemed surprised, but aroused, and once my finger was fully seated inside of him, he started to move with me as I moved.

"Ohhhhhhhhhh... fuck," he moaned loudly, the volume increasing with each thrust of my hand. "Yes... _yes_..." I fucked him, slow and deep, for a few minutes, then withdrew completely. He tried to contain his disappointment, but the soft whispered pleas started again, begging for more, begging for release.

"Oh please oh please oh please..."

I continued to stroke his cock with my hand as I slid the tip of the small plastic vibrator inside him. He screamed and bucked against me, but I continued to push until it was completely inside him.

And then, I turned it on.

The low hum instantly filled the room, and he screamed again, just sounds now, no words. I moved the vibrator inside him, fucking him with it, increasing the speed with my hand on his cock.

"Please, please, please, please..." he begged, thrusting repeatedly into my hand. On my next stroke, I grabbed the cock ring and slid it off of him in one quick motion.

"_Oh my God_... yes... please... please... oh..."

Then I turned up the speed on the vibe, fucking him harder and faster. He was thrashing his head wildly from side to side, bucking his hips, and begging me to come. It was time.

"Edward... baby... come for me... _now_," I commanded, thrusting into him deeply, and he exploded.

"_FUCK_!" He screamed as he came, hard, his thick, white fluid shooting violently across the bed, covering his chest and stomach. "_Oh Jesus, YES_! _YES! YES_!" His hips were shaking, pushing into the air, as he continued to come apart in front of me. It took him several seconds to finish, and then he collapsed back to the mattress, gasping for breath and moaning softly to himself.

I turned off the vibrator and slowly removed it from his body, then slipped the blindfold from his eyes. I watched him for a minute or two, panting, flushed, covered in sweat and come, and thought that he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. He came like that for me. For _me_.

I quickly removed the clamps from his nipples, knowing that it would hurt terribly, but it was inevitable. He _screamed_. And for some reason, I didn't enjoy the sound this time.

I grabbed a couple of towels from the bathroom and ran one under some warm water. I sat back on the bed, right next to him, and I cleaned him up with the warm, wet towel. He was mumbling, incoherent, still trying to catch his breath. As he felt the towel on his skin, he opened his eyes and turned his head slowly to look at me. He watched me as I moved, following me with his eyes. He looked at me with total and complete devotion. I knew he wanted to speak, to say something to me, to express what he was feeling, but I don't think he could quite find the words just yet.

I smiled at him, stroking his face softly, letting him know with a look that I understood. He didn't need to speak.

"Shh, Edward. It's okay... It's okay... you're okay." I spoke to him with a calming tone, letting him come down slowly from what I knew was an extremely emotional experience. He closed his eyes and pressed his face into my hand, accepting my request to take care of him. Trusting me to take care of him. Trusting me completely.

"I'm going to loosen some of these ropes now, Edward... just stay calm, keep breathing, alright?" He nodded slightly, still gazing at me in wonderment.

I untied the ropes from the headboard and removed the straps from behind his knees. His legs were weak, and they immediately collapsed on the bed. I left the ropes to his ankles loose as well. I wanted him to have enough slack to be able to sleep comfortably tonight. Lastly, I relaxed the ropes securing his wrists, just enough so that he could move his arms around a little. He couldn't seem to move at all on his own, so I turned him onto his side, into what I thought would be a comfortable position for him. I bent his knees a little, towards his body, and pulled his arms down in front of him, in a fetal position, my sleeping baby.

I fed him a few more sips of water, leaving the bottle on the side of the bed for him. I didn't know if he could reach it, but I wanted to make the gesture.

I covered him with a blanket, then lifted his head and placed a pillow beneath him. He relaxed and sighed as his head hit the soft down.

There was nothing left for me to do.

I needed to leave him now, and I was finding it incredibly difficult to tear myself away from him. I knew that I would be just upstairs, and that I could come right back down here if I wanted, but I knew that he needed the separation. That _I_ needed it.

I stroked his hair again, so soft, scratching my nails lightly on his scalp. He sighed contentedly, smiling a little, and then, I think he fell asleep.

I watched him for several minutes after that. Just watching him sleep. Steady, even breathing. Relaxed jaw. Lips, soft and slightly parted.

I don't know how long I sat there, just staring at him, stroking his hair, his skin, but eventually, I knew I had to leave. I got up from the bed and walked reluctantly towards the stairs. I took one last look, and as my foot hit the first stair, I heard his soft, sleepy voice.

"Isabella, wait... please."

I turned back to look at him. He was barely awake.

"I just... well... thank you. That was..." He seemed to be searching for the right words to say and coming up empty.

"I know, sweet boy. I know," I said with a smile as I turned and headed upstairs.

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**A/N: Extra special thanks (and always) this chapter to my beta/best friend, LibbyLou862, who took the time out of her hectic RL to read and edit my smut. And she asks me the BEST questions. ;) **

**Never recommended anything before (except for EVERYTHING on my favorite stories list, which are ALL fabulous), but at this very second, I need to finish this post, so that I can go back to reading "Raw and Rosy" by TuesdayMidnight. UGH. SO GOOD. And thanks to Mabarbarella for sending me THAT link AND for letting me freak out on you this week during my "friend of a friend of a friend saw Rob Pattinson a half hour from my house" attack. :)**

**Please review and let me know what you think. Thanks!**

**Disclaimer: All things "Twilight" belong to Stephanie Meyer. "Trunk Boy," however, is all mine.**


	21. Chapter 21

******************WARNING: This story contains disturbing and sometimes violent material, as well as graphic sexual content. If violence bothers you, please do not read this story.**

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**Chapter 21**

I felt like crap.

I tossed and turned the entire night, checking the clock every hour. I just couldn't sleep. I was so confused, my emotions careening out of control. He was here, with me, in my house, and he _wanted_ to be. And I couldn't decide what _exactly_ I wanted from him.

I was angry with him, but wanted to make him feel good. I wanted to control him, but wanted him to take me. I wanted to hear him scream, but wanted to hear him moan.

And I could _feel_ him. I could feel that he was in my house... a tingling in my skin, a buzzing in my ears. All through the night, as I would angrily flip over in my bed and look at the clock, I would think, _He's here. I can go to him if I want to_. And I wanted to, of course, but I didn't. I had to show some restraint.

But it was like that. All fucking night.

So when the clock flipped from 5:59 to 6:00, I finally said _fuck it_ and got out of bed. I took a quick shower, tempted to linger a little and relieve some building tension, but I was anxious to get downstairs to see him, to touch him, to smell him.

I started to throw on a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, but thought better of it and slipped on a short silk robe instead, enjoying the feel of the soft fabric as it brushed against my skin. I wondered how Edward's fingers would feel on me when I finally allowed him to touch me, if they would feel soft and satiny, or hard and rough. I remembered how he felt, his naked skin, and that he was mine. And tied up. Right now. In my _house_.

Fuck.

I ran downstairs to the kitchen and pulled out a skillet and some eggs to make breakfast. We didn't eat last night, and I was starving. I'm sure he was too. I had to make sure he was fed, I had to... take care of him.

As I put the skillet on the stove, I quickly glanced at the TV monitor on the granite counter, and my stomach immediately clenched. _What if..._

_What if he wasn't there._

What if he had gotten out, somehow, released himself... and _left me_ during the night. What if it was all too much, and he had changed his mind. What if I had completely misread him the night before, and he didn't like it, he didn't want it, didn't want _me_. Oh my God. I couldn't move. I was locked in place, legs frozen, unable to breathe, the pain of his absence not yet confirmed, but crippling me already.

There was only one way to know. _Just fucking turn it on_.

My hand was shaking as I finally willed my body to move, and I switched on the monitor. The second or two that it took for the image to appear on the screen seemed seemed to stretch endlessly, and I felt like I couldn't breathe.

But there he was.

Asleep. Twisted in the blanket, still curled on his side. Even on the tiny black and white screen, he looked beautiful. I released the breath I had been holding, and I touched my fingertips to his image on the screen, the static from the monitor eerily similar to the electrical pull I felt when I was near him.

I was even more desperate and anxious to see him.

I quickly fried some bacon, scrambled some eggs, and dished two plates for us. A carafe of coffee later, and I was ready to go. I unlocked the door and headed downstairs.

He was still sleeping, so I put the tray down on the table next to the bed and sat next to him on the bed. I watched him for a few minutes, his slow deep breathing, his beautiful face. Just like I had the night before. So beautiful, so perfect.

I wanted to touch.

I slid my fingertips lightly along his arm, feeling the softness of his skin and the hard muscle just beneath. The blanket was tangled around his legs and the entire upper half of his body was exposed to me. He looked relaxed, comfortable. Like he belonged here, with me. In a way, it felt like he had always been here. It was like I couldn't remember when he _wasn't_ here.

I moved up to his shoulder and across his collarbone.

I realized that I hadn't yet taken the time to touch him, to _really_ touch him. To completely explore him, everywhere, like I had fantasized about for months. I dipped my fingers in the hollow of his throat, thinking how nicely my tongue would fit there.

I moved down his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles. He was so warm. And I was so lost.

He made a small noise, just a slight exhalation of breath, but it made me feel like he was aware of me, even in his sleep. I wanted to strip the blanket off of the rest of his body and watch as his entire body woke up.

I circled his nipples, one, then the other, and watched as they hardened before my eyes. He made another soft noise, almost a moan, and I smiled and moved my hand to his face. His beard was heavy and rough, and I stroked across his cheek and down his jaw. I couldn't seem to keep my hands away from his mouth, and I had to touch his lip again, the bottom one, warm, soft, pouting.

He stirred.

His eyes were still closed, but his breathing pattern had changed, and he turned his head towards my hand, searching. I let him settle into my palm, moving my thumb slowly back and forth across his skin. My touch seemed to comfort him, calm him.

He opened his eyes and looked at me, and I was amazed with what I saw there. No fear, no hesitation, no doubt. Just acceptance, trust, and pure, complete devotion.

Then he smiled at me, and I felt suddenly and inexplicably warmer.

"Hey," he said shyly. I couldn't seem to reconcile this Edward with coffee room Edward, but I knew that I wanted both of them. His voice was hoarse, and I had a flash memory of him screaming the night before, begging.

"Good morning," I said, returning his smile with another soft stroke of his cheek. "How did you sleep?"

He blushed furiously, and grinned. "I think I passed out." Then his expression turned serious. "Last night... Jesus... I never..."

"I know, Edward." I continued to stroke his face, to let him know that I understood. I wondered if he was as confused as I was, and if there would ever come a time when I felt comfortable discussing my feelings with him. If I could ever let my guard down and really trust him.

He must have seen my hesitancy, the emotion on my face, because he tried to reach up and touch me, to comfort me as I had him. He had forgotten that he was still bound, and his hand caught in mid-air. He sighed, but left his hand in the air.

"Please, Isabella," he whispered, still reaching for me. "I just... I need to touch you."

I thought about it. I really did. I wanted to loosen the cuffs and climb into bed with him and hold him. I wanted to stroke his hair and sleep in his arms and wake up together.

But I couldn't. Not just yet.

"So sweet..." I murmured, brushing his lip with my fingers, yet again. I sat up straighter and took a deep breath, trying to change the momentum in the room and get back to business. "Actually, I brought breakfast. Hungry?"

He seemed to accept my decision, and he sat up, leaning back on his hands a little. There wasn't enough slack in his bindings for him to completely move his arms. He still looked a little confused. He must have thought that he finally understood me, that he had broken through. I desperately wanted to let him know that he had, but I was scared of what that would mean.

I picked up the fork and brought the first bite to his mouth. After a second or two of hesitation, he licked his lips and slowly opened his mouth for me, keeping his eyes locked on mine. I watched him, mesmerized, as he moved forward and wrapped his soft lips around the tines of the fork.

I swallowed hard.

He was so fucking sexy. And I wanted him so badly, I needed him. How the hell did he turn eating scrambled eggs into the single most erotic thing I had ever seen?

As I fed him bite after bite, I noticed that he was as affected as I was, his rapid breathing, the depth of his gaze. It wasn't just me. He was feeling it too. When the blanket started to move between his legs, evidence of his growing erection, I finally gave in and decided to take what I wanted, what was mine. It was not what I had planned for the morning, but, fuck it, they were my rules.

I threw the plate down on the table and pulled the blanket completely from his body, two fluid and almost simultaneous actions. He sucked in a breath, surprised at my sudden movement, but completely ready to participate in whatever I had in mind.

Jesus, he was a sight to behold on that bed. Naked, bound, erect, _willing_. He was still sitting up, leaning back on his hands, and he had pulled his knees up slightly, silently telling me what he wanted, _where_ he wanted me.

I climbed up on the bed and slid between his legs, looking up at him. I licked my lips in anticipation.

"Edward." I said his name slowly, low and soft, a promise. God, I loved saying his name, the feel of it as it rolled out of my mouth.

He didn't answer, but he knew that one was not required. He was breathing heavier now, almost panting, anxious and desperate for me to do whatever it was I was planning.

I grabbed his ankles with both hands and pushed his feet slowly back towards his body, spreading his legs wide, as far as his bindings would allow. Then I ran my hands up his legs, his calves, knees, thighs, not bothering to hide my hunger for him, wanting him to know how completely he affected me. When I stroked the skin on the inside of his legs, where they connected to his body, he moaned loudly, whispering my name.

"_Isabella_..."

He wanted me. Whatever I wanted to give to him.

He was mine. _Mine_.

I plunged my mouth down on him, taking his entire length in one quick motion. My sudden action shocked him, and he threw his head back with a loud moan, thrusting his hips up towards me.

And this time, I let him. This time, it was not a game. It was not about control. It was simply about me wanting him. Wanting to make him feel good, to let him _know_.

I quickly and hungrily worked him with my mouth, lips, tongue, and fingers, until he started begging... desperate, whispered pleas. It took me a minute to realize that he was asking for permission, that he wanted to come, and he was waiting for me to tell him he could. He was following the rules when even I had forgotten to play. His obedience was _exquisite_.

I popped off of him just long enough to give him what he wanted.

"Mmm, _so good_," I growled. "Do you want to come, Edward?"

"Yes... yes... please... please..." he begged, his hips moving in slow, hungry circles.

"Look at me, Edward," I ordered. He whimpered, thinking I would deny him, and lifted his head off the bed just in time to watch me flick my tongue across the head of his cock. He was panting, waiting, desperate, and I could no longer deny him. "_Come for me, baby._.." I whispered, and I slid his hard length back into my mouth.

He came quick and hard, and I was again overwhelmed with new and confusing emotions. I felt like I had just received a gift, that he had given me a piece of himself, a private part that no one else had but me.

He collapsed back onto the bed, and I watched, transfixed, as he came down from his orgasm, panting, sweating, mumbling incoherencies. _Beautiful_.

I loosened the cuffs on his ankles and wrists, removing them and throwing them down to the floor. For some reason, I trusted him, and I wanted to move him to the next step. I needed to know that we could progress, that he was still mine, that he was still bound to me, but that I didn't need ropes and cuffs to keep him forever.

He opened his eyes and turned his head towards me, and I could see the sudden fear, the question that he was afraid to ask.

"No, Edward," I said softly with a smile and a shake of my head. "I'm not setting you free." He was holding his breath, waiting for my reassurances, which I gladly gave him. "You are mine, and you will _always_ be mine."

* * *

The weekend went quickly.

I bathed him, fed him, bound him, fucked him.

Repeatedly.

I was insatiable, and so was he. There was no depravity that was beneath him, no act he was unwilling to try, and together, we tried everything. I learned everything about his body, how far I could push him, what made him scream, and what made him come. I balanced him on the edge for hours at a time, waiting for that moment of complete surrender, when I owned him, body, mind, and soul, and then I would give him that final push, watching him as he tumbled into the abyss.

And there was something about his newly acquired freedom that I found even more exciting. When he was bound, he was a captive, not a participant, and that was the game. But unbound... It was about control and obedience and submission. I would tell him what I wanted him to do, exactly _how_ I wanted him to do it, and, he would have to choose. Each and every time, he had the free will to refuse me, but he never did. He gave me just what I needed.

Every few hours, I would let him sleep, alone, and I would wander around my house, counting the minutes until I could return to him. I knew that I should be napping too, but I found it increasingly difficult to relax when I was away from him.

By Sunday night, I was no longer able to hide my anxiety, wondering how I would be able to leave him the next day and return to work. The office used to be a place of endless possibilities, where anything could happen. I never knew when I would see him, when he would walk by or pop into my office. The days were filled with moments, hearing his voice in the hallway, smelling him in an empty room, knowing he was just there. I lived for the opportunities, the chance encounters.

Now, there would be none.

Instead, my day would be filled with memories, with longing to return to him, that physical pull to be in the same room with him. And he would be here, in my home, alone, waiting for my return. Hopefully. That should have filled me with joy and pride, knowing that he would be waiting for me, that he was mine. It had never been a problem before, but this was not like before. At all. I was in uncharted territory.

I still had doubts. If it could work. If he really wanted what he said he wanted. I waited for the moment when he would tell me that it was over, that he was tired of me. I just knew that it was coming. It was only a matter of time.

I was making myself sick.

I needed to do something to get my mind right, to restore my control, my confidence. I needed a release, one that I had not yet given myself, because it had not been necessary.

I needed to hurt him.

Once the idea occurred to me, I couldn't get it out of my head. The only screams I had heard from him had been screams of sexual frustration, of need, of desperation, of release.

I needed his pain. And he needed to give it to me. He had told me so, had begged me for it. But those were games. This would be different. After this, I would know.

I needed a reason, however. I couldn't just give punishments when punishments weren't due. I didn't hurt my boys for any kind of sexual thrill. I only hurt them to teach them a lesson, to right a wrong. After my out of control episode with Ben so many years ago, I had vowed never to lose control like that again.

I paced the small room, thinking, and he watched me in silence. He knew that I was fighting with something, but he didn't want to ask. Maybe he had doubts too. Maybe he didn't want to know.

_Fuck, yeah._

That was it.

It was small, but it would do. I turned to face him as he lay, sated and sweating, on my basement bed.

"Edward." I had to let him know that this was business. He leaned up on his elbows and looked at me.

My resolve faltered, for just a second or two, as I admired his beauty... his hair in disarray, his unshaven jaw, his heavy green eyes, his naked body. And that smirk. As I watched the corner of his mouth turn up slightly, I knew that I was on the right path, that we both needed this.

"Edward, it's getting late, and we have some unfinished business to attend to before I leave you for the night." His grin widened. He was obviously thinking that I had something sexual planned. It was a good guess on his part, considering our history.

I walked to the cabinet and retrieved my long leather strap. It was the only instrument of punishment that I owned, the same one that I had used on Ben twenty years ago. I turned back to him, holding the strap in my hands. His grin instantly vanished, and I saw his throat move as he swallowed hard, trying to speak.

"What... what did I do?" He knew. He knew that I would punish him, he just didn't know what for.

"I have rules, Edward. Expectations. These were discussed with you, correct?" I caressed the thick leather between my fingers.

He nodded, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"And you agreed to them?"

Again, he nodded.

"I think I've been more than fair, Edward," I said sternly, clearing my throat before continuing. "But yesterday, even after I explained a particular requirement to you - "

"I don't... I don't understand, Isabella... please..." He was begging for something, but I wasn't exactly sure what it was. What was he afraid of, the pain? The humiliation? My displeasure?

" - you continued to defy me."

"Please," he whispered hoarsely, climbing to his knees on the bed. "Please tell me what I did so I can make it up to you..." And he reached out for me. It took every cell in my body to ignore him and continue.

"I'm not angry, Edward. Just disappointed." His face fell as he processed my words. "But I need to right this, to make you understand. Everything matters, Edward, every detail. I require your complete and absolute obedience, and if you're not willing to give me that - "

"I'm willing, goddammit! _Please_, Isabella, _please_ tell me what I did!" His voice cracked with emotion and desperation. For _me_.

"Yesterday, I asked you a question. You gave me an answer, and I corrected you. I told you that I would never ask you a question in which "yeah" would be the appropriate response. But you continued, despite my wishes. Several times. I let it go at the time, choosing to deal with your indiscretions in my own way." He looked surprised that I would react so severely to such a minor lapse. But this is what he needed to learn... that there were no minor lapses, that it was all or nothing, that I needed _all_ of him, not just the parts he was willing to share.

He hung his head and whispered the words that he hoped would save him.

"I'm sorry."

Jesus, I wanted to comfort him, but this was a lesson and it _had_ to happen, one of many. I couldn't back down now. I took a deep breath.

"You're not yet, Edward, but you will be... On your stomach, arms above your head. Legs wide."

He paused for a second or two, then moved as I had requested. I quickly cuffed his wrists and locked them together, securing them in the middle of the headboard with the nylon strap. I would have loved to have tested his control, unbound, but this was a new experience for him, and I didn't know how he would react, if he would try to move or protect himself. I didn't want to hurt his hands.

He was beautiful like this, and I hesitated for only a split second.

The first strike was harder than it needed to be and completely without warning. As the leather hit his skin, it made a sickening crack and reverberated through the room. And he _screamed_. I had never heard him scream like that before, complete and utter pain, and it was almost impossible for me to continue. But I did.

The strap came down a second time. He screamed again, and I started to feel nauseous. He was breathing rapidly and writhing around on the bed, trying to get away from the pain. But I needed for him to break before I could stop.

Again, and again I struck. I lost count. I never hit the same place twice, and his skin was striped and red. His screams had deafened me, and I could no longer hear, I couldn't focus.

Until, finally, I heard it.

A muffled sob in the quiet, dark room. He was crying, the tears streaming down his cheeks, his eyes shut tight. He was mumbling between shaky breaths, but all I could hear was "so sorry, so sorry."

I dropped the strap to the floor and quickly sat next to him on the bed. Oh my God, what had I done? I quickly removed the cuffs on his wrists, but he didn't move. His arms just fell to the bed.

I reached over to touch his hair, and he flinched.

"Edward, look at me." I continued to pull my fingers through his messy hair, now matted and sweaty, and tried again. "Edward, it's over, it's okay, open your eyes, baby." I was desperate now, as desperate as he had been when he made his speech days before. I needed him to look at me, to let me know it was okay, that he still wanted this, that he still wanted me.

He opened his eyes, puffy, red, and wet, and looked up at me. With everything I had just put him through, the pain, the disappointment, the humiliation, and still, he looked at me adoringly. Complete devotion. No fear.

I placed my palm on his cheek, wiping at his tears with my thumb.

"Edward," I choked out. I was losing it, my carefully crafted facade crumbling before this man I barely knew, but could no longer live without. "Edward, I'm ... " I almost had the words out, the apology, but he stopped me, his hand stroking mine. I had hurt him, but _he_ was comforting _me_.

"It's okay, Isabella, it's okay... I'm yours. I'll _always_ be yours..."

I swore to myself, in that moment, that I would never hurt him like that again.

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**A/N: Thanks to LovingLady for always being the one to ask "Isn't it about that time again?", to Mabarbarella for taking credit for my "Wow, Jackson IS really hot" realization, even if it was because she made me read pages of ExJ slash to get there, and to LibbyLou862 for reading every chapter of TB as if she didn't already know what was gonna happen already ;).**

**Story recs: "Mergers & Acquisitions" is a great ExJ slash story, very graphic, very hot. "Out Lives Unbound" is a beatifully written ExJ soft D/s story, it's like erotic poetry, just lovely. And "Raw and Rosy" still owns me...**

**If you have questions for me, I'd love to answer them. And if you have a review for me, well, golly, I'd sure love to read it.**

**Disclaimer: All things "Twilight" belong to Stephanie Meyer. "Trunk Boy," however, is all mine.**


	22. Chapter 22

******************WARNING: This story contains disturbing and sometimes violent material, as well as graphic sexual content. If violence bothers you, please do not read this story.**

******************A/N: I am SO sorry that this chapter is so late... Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa!**

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**Chapter 2****2**

On Monday, I returned to work.

It was much harder than I thought it would be, leaving him. I had done this a hundred times before - left boys in my house, locked in my basement, waiting for me - but this time, it was different. Because it was _Edward_. Everything was different with him.

I sat at my desk, staring at the work that I _should_ have been doing but couldn't, and I felt like I was missing a part of myself, that I was somehow incomplete. I was slowly drowning without him, suffocating, and I wasn't even trying to pull myself out of it. I wallowed in misery and counted the minutes until I could return to him.

Over the course of the morning, I found myself randomly obsessing over small details, moments that I would remember from the weekend. I would either play them over and over in my head, reliving the intense pleasures that we brought each other, or I would dissect them, convincing myself that something was wrong, that it couldn't really be this good, this perfect.

I was currently thinking about the lock on the basement door. I had changed the combination that morning before I left, while he was still sleeping, wondering if he would try to hack it again. He had done it once before, and if he _really_ wanted out, I was sure that he wouldn't hesitate to do it again. It was almost a test, in a way, one that I hadn't necessarily intended. To see if he really wanted to be with me. To stay. To truly be mine.

I felt like we had discovered so much about each other over the weekend, that we had gone through so much in such a short time. We had only been together for three days, but it felt like years. The reality of it was that we still had much to learn about each other, so many more questions that needed to be asked, but for now, I felt content, comfortable.

All morning long, I tried to hold onto that feeling as long as I could, but the anxiety, the ache for him, would start to creep in, eventually sucking me down below the surface again.

Then something occurred to me... _I could go home at lunch_. See him. Touch him. Smell him. Jesus, I needed to smell his scent so badly, to taste it on my tongue. Instantly, I felt better, the anxiety decreasing and the ache between my legs increasing. I started to smile, unable to control the huge grin that was spreading across my face. Devious plans ran through my mind. I could breathe again.

Unfortunately, my simple but effective plan crashed and burned as I tried to exit the building for my lunch break. Jessica stopped me at the elevator with a client crisis that had to be dealt with immediately. I was pissed off, but I knew my business, and I couldn't let this go. So I worked the problem. And checked the clock every few minutes, watching my window of opportunity slip through my fingers. As I realized that my luncheon tryst was just not going to happen, the clawing, suffocating feeling slipped back in, and I had to force myself to concentrate on the task at hand.

By the time the crisis had abated, it was almost two o'clock. I had missed seeing him at lunch, but I had also killed a significant amount of time, and I could conceivably leave the office at five o'clock without too many raised eyebrows. Three hours to go.

I would work for a few minutes, and then my mind would return to my boy in the basement, my Edward. I wondered what he was doing at that exact moment. Was he watching television? I had a nice system installed down there, specifically to while away the boredom during my long absences, and I had left the remote control on the bedside table. Was he eating? The mini-fridge was fully stocked. Did he put on the clothes that I had left for him, simple jeans and a t-shirt, or had he remained... _Oh God_. The unfinished thought stopped me short. I swallowed hard and took a deep breath. Was he still _naked_, laying on the bed, waiting for me? _Fuck,_ that mental image. He looked so delicious naked and hard. Had he thought about me at all, about what we had done, and become aroused, touched himself? No, he wouldn't do that, he knew better. He was so perfectly obedient, wanting to please me in every way possible. But maybe he _had_ become aroused and was suffering through the afternoon, unable to achieve any kind of relief. Maybe he was just as anxious to see me as I was to see him.

My nipples hardened and tightened almost painfully as the images of his naked, hard body ran through my mind. I could almost hear his voice, the moans, the begging, the screams.

A quick glance at the clock on my computer screen derailed my impromptu fantasy. Shit. I still had an hour to go.

This was the longest fucking day _ever_. I had never needed anyone so much in my entire life. _None_ of the previous boys did this to me. With them, I came to work, did my business, often working late into the night. And when I got home, they were there, waiting for me, and I would proceed with whatever I had planned. No problems with concentration, no anxiety. This _had_ to get better. If it was like this every day away from him, something would have to give, and I'm not sure what that would be.

* * *

Five o'clock finally arrived.

I packed up quickly and dashed to the elevator, avoiding eye contact and hallway chit-chat. I was afraid that if someone stopped me, I would either go insane, or I would become quickly violent. Thankfully, I made it to my car in the garage without a single incident.

As I drove home, I was unable to enjoy the fact that I would see him in minutes. Instead, I was obsessing on the distant possibility that he had unlocked the door and left, and that my basement was currently cold and empty. I wasn't sure what I would do if that happened, how I would handle it, how I would manage to go on.

I pulled into the garage at a dangerously high rate of speed and ran into the house. I didn't dare check the monitor on the kitchen counter, because I knew I wouldn't be able to deal with it if he were gone. And I needed to see it for myself. I needed him. God, help me.

I punched in the combination on the basement door lock, my fingers shaking as I hit each key.

The light on the lock turned red.

_Red_.

Not green.

Red, meaning no. No access. No Edward.

Fuck. _Did he change it?_

I stabbed at the keys angrily and entered the number in a second time.

Red, again.

_FUCK!_

I was starting to panic, running my hands over my face, trying to control my breathing.

I entered the number, the new one I had created that morning, a third time, and was rewarded with a green light and a soft click.

I released the breath I was holding, realizing that in my haste to see Edward, I had simply punched the wrong keys. I was all worked up for nothing. The combination was as I had left it. The door was locked, as I had left it.

I walked down the stairs, taking the wooden steps slowly, one at a time. Now that I was here, I was nervous about what I would or wouldn't find, and I was now almost hesitant to find out. The room was eerily quiet.

The steps creaked as I moved, and as I descended, I watched the small double bed come into view.

It was empty.

I froze on the stairs, an empty, nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach, threatening to overtake me. It had finally happened, as I knew it would. All my worrying, my fears realized. He was gone. I would not survive this, I knew I wouldn't. He was too important. I was lightheaded and dizzy, and my legs were weak, so I sat, where I stood, in the middle of the flight of stairs.

Minutes passed. I'm not sure how long I sat there. I had no concept of time. Only loss. And pain.

And then I heard something. A soft, repetitive whisper in the dark basement. A distant tapping.

I raised my head, quickly scanning the small, cold room. I saw nothing. It was empty. Was I truly going crazy now, hearing voices? And not just any voice, of course, but Edward's voice, or so I hoped. It was so quiet, and I was listening so hard for his voice that it took me a moment to find it again.

I stood up, smoothed my skirt, and slowly walked down the remainder of the stairs. As I reached the bottom, I scanned the room quickly, trying to ignore the very empty bed, and I saw movement in the far corner, near the cabinets. As I strained to see in the dimly lit room, I walked towards the noise, hesitantly.

And that's when I saw him.

He was sitting on the floor in a ball, rocking very slowly back and forth, tapping his bare feet on the cold concrete. And he was completely naked. He looked terrible, sad, scared. He looked like a little boy recovering from a horrible nightmare. He was whispering something over and over...

_"Isabella, Isabella, Isabella..."_

"Edward?" I called to him as I walked closer, but there was no response. He kept mumbling, rocking.

"Edward?" I said, a little louder. "Are you okay?" I was standing right in front of him, but I didn't think he knew that I was there. He was scaring me. I needed him to be okay.

I reached down with my hand and touched his head, stroking his hair, and as soon as I touched him, he quieted and slowly looked up at me.

"Isabella?" he whispered. "Is it ... really you?"

"It's me, Edward," I said softly. "I'm here... You're okay... I'm here."

He blinked a couple of times, then exhaled a long breath and unfurled his body, wrapping his arms around my legs, clutching me tightly.

"Oh my God, I thought you were gone, I thought you had left me, that you weren't coming back. I thought you didn't want me anymore, that you were done with me." He was rambling, talking non-stop. "I woke up, and you were gone. I tried the door, but it was locked. I banged on the door, and called your name, but you never answered me. I couldn't believe that you had left me, that you were gone. Why weren't you answering? What if you didn't come back? I need you too much. You can't leave me Isabella, you can't. You can't. You can't..."

As I listened to him recall the progression of his day, I realized that he had, essentially, the same insecurities that I had. I had been on the same emotional roller coaster all day long without him, not knowing if he would be there when I returned, if he would still want me, if he had left me. But while I was at the office, interacting with people and free to investigate my concerns, he was locked in my basement, alone with his thoughts, and he had worried himself into a corner, literally.

I had to fix this.

I dropped to my knees on the floor in front of him, and took his face in my hands.

"Shh, Edward. It's okay, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." I stroked his face and waited for him to calm.

"Edward, listen to me." He took a shaky breath and nodded.

"Edward, I'm sorry." He opened his mouth to refute me, but I stopped him with a stern look, a raised eyebrow. "Edward, just listen to me for a minute, okay? ... I'm sorry for leaving you here today, alone. I should have woken you up this morning, told you that I was leaving, what the plan was so that you knew what to expect. But I knew that if I came down here, if I saw your beautiful, sleeping face, that I would never leave the house." I ran my thumb across his bottom lip, desperate to make him understand, and I gave him a small smile. He sighed and pressed his cheek into my palm.

"You were on my mind all day, Edward. I wondered what you were doing, every single minute. I wondered if you were thinking about me, at all, and if you would still be here when I got home."

"Isabella, I -"

"Edward, let me finish." He nodded and let me continue. "I had the same doubts today that you did. The same fears. We both tortured ourselves today, and for what? I need you, Edward. I want you. I want no one but you. You are mine, today, and forever. For the rest of our lives. I will _never_ let you go." I took a deep breath and laid the remainder of my cards on the table. "Do you... is that... what you want too? Tell me now, Edward. I need to know, right now, where you are in all of this."

He reached up and stroked my hands, still cradling his face, and he smiled at me. He looked tired, his eyes heavy and wet, but beautiful and full of depth. He took my hands in his and gently pulled them from his face, holding them together in front of him. He looked deeply into my eyes and pressed his lips to my hands, over and over and over. He kissed every inch of skin on my hands with his soft, warm lips, and then he whispered the words I was desperate to hear.

_"I'm yours Isabella... forever."_

I stared at him for several seconds, letting it all sink in, letting myself finally believe him, trust him... and I smiled. I think he was finally starting to believe it himself, and he gave me a tiny grin, just one corner of his mouth turning up at the very edge. That sexy smirk of his that I loved so much, that I hadn't seen in such a long time.

I stood, and pulled him to his feet next to me. He was naked and shivering. It wasn't that cold in the basement, but the emotional release seemed to be affecting him physically, and I needed to get him warm and comfortable.

I grabbed the blanket off of the bed and wrapped it around his shoulders, pulling it closed in front of him the best that I could. I rubbed up and down his arms, quickly, trying to generate some warmth through friction.

"Better?" I asked.

"Much," he replied, his voice a little deeper. "So much..."

I grabbed his hand again as I turned and walked towards the stairs, pulling him along behind me. As I started on the first step, he stopped me.

"Isabella, wait. Where are we going?" He was obviously confused, assuming the basement would be his permanent place in my home. But that would no longer work for me. I needed to change our arrangement.

"Upstairs, Edward. You're coming upstairs with me," I said with a confidence that I didn't yet feel. "I don't think you belong in my basement anymore, do you?" I didn't, of course, but I was teasing him a little, trying to lighten the mood. I wanted to see how he would play this, how he would answer.

"Um," he said softly, squeezing my hand and meeting my eyes. "All I know is that I belong with you, wherever you are... wherever you want me."

Jesus. This man.

"I want you, Edward," I said softly as I pulled him up the stairs, "I want you in my bed. All night. But first, I need to take care of you a little, if you'll let me..." He grinned, holding my hand tightly as he followed me up the stairs, through the locked door, through my quiet house, until we were standing in my bedroom. I pulled him into my bathroom and started running the water in the large bathtub. My bathroom was huge, almost as large as my bedroom, and my favorite room in the house. I dimmed the lights and turned off the tap as the water neared the top of the tub.

I turned to Edward and slowly pulled the blanket from around his body, letting it drop silently to the floor. He was so beautiful, his naked body, the soft light on his skin. I knew I would never get enough of him. I wanted to drop to my knees and fill my mouth and hands with him, licking and sucking and touching him until I heard his screams, the ones he saved only for me. But I didn't. I needed to take care of his other needs first, to show him how much I needed him, how important he was to me.

I took his hands and led him to the tub, encouraging him to climb into the steaming water. He eased in slowly, hissing softly as he adjusted to the temperature. Once he was settled, he pulled on my hand, assuming that I would join him.

"Not just yet, Edward," I said with a smirk, as I ran my fingers through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp with my nails. He closed his eyes and groaned at my touch, and my resolve wavered for a moment, but I was determined to take care of him tonight. "Get comfortable. Relax. I'll be right back, okay?" He sighed, contentedly, and nodded, leaning his head back, closing his eyes.

I ran to the kitchen and dug through the refrigerator, pulling out all of the packages of meat and cheese that I bought from the deli. I sliced a couple of slabs of fresh sourdough bread and made a huge, thick sandwich, cut in squares, with a side of chips and a couple of pickles. I grabbed a couple of cokes and made my way back to the bathroom.

He hadn't moved since I left him, eyes still closed, head resting against the cool marble.

I sat next to him, on the floor, and brushed my fingers softly across his cheek. He didn't flinch, he just opened his eyes and looked at me, smiling.

"Eat. You must be starving." I knew he hadn't eaten all day, and neither had I. I opened both of the cokes and took a sip from mine, then picked up one of the sandwich squares and took a bite, encouraging him to follow my lead. It took him a minute, watching me, but then he sat up in the tub and started to eat.

He must have been hungrier than he realized, and he devoured all three pieces of the sandwich while I was still working on the one. The chips and pickles were next, and then he downed half the soft drink in one, continuous gulp.

"Oh my God, that was good," he moaned, licking the salt from the chips off of his mouth. "Thanks..." I was mesmerized by the movement of his tongue as it slid across his lips, and the sounds that he was making, and he was watching me as I watched him. He could tell how he was affecting me, and it seemed to amuse him. He brought his fingers up to his mouth and started licking the salt off of each one, eyes half closed, moaning louder and louder as he went. He had apparently recovered from his earlier emotional trauma and felt good enough to tease me.

I stood up, still watching him, and kicked off my shoes. I unzipped my skirt and let it fall to the floor. I was halfway through unbuttoning my blouse when he finally realized what I was doing, and by the time I was completely naked, his cocky bravado had crumbled away completely. He was breathing heavily, anticipating, and his tongue was darting out of his mouth, swiping across his lips as he blatantly devoured my bare skin with only his eyes.

"Move up a little," I told him with a grin, but he only stared at me, not moving, so I gently pushed his shoulders forward and climbed in the tub behind him. I opened my legs and wrapped them around him, then pulled him back against my chest, the water spilling gently over the side of the tub to make room.

"Relax, Edward," I whispered in his ear, over and over like a mantra, until finally, he eased a little lower into the water, letting his head fall back against my shoulder. "Better," I chuckled and licked the lobe of his ear. "Much better."

I ran my fingertips lazily up and down the muscles of his arms, through his soft, damp hair, and across his hard chest... slow, gentle circuits. We didn't speak, we didn't need to. I just needed him to know how much I wanted him, that I would never leave him again, that he would always be mine.

It was like that for a while, just touching each other, not speaking. He was relaxed and comfortable, and he seemed to trust me again, confident in my commitment to him.

I brushed my lips against the soft skin on his neck and buried my nose in his hair, inhaling his scent. I parted my lips and let my tongue taste his skin, salty and sweet, and I could feel his pulse quickening beneath me. He moaned softly and tilted his head to the side, silently asking me to continue, which I did, and he stroked my bare legs just under the surface of the water, from ankle to thigh.

He then lifted his arm out of the water, reaching back over his shoulder, and buried his hand in my hair. Slowly, he moved his body to one side and turned his face to mine. He stroked my hair gently and looked deeply in my eyes, then moving his gaze lower, to my mouth. He parted his lips and pulled me towards him...

I froze.

"What... what are you doing?" I asked him sharply. I was shocked at his actions, and a little pissed at his forwardness.

"I want... I want to kiss you... can I? _Please_?" he whispered. He was asking for permission, the sound of his plea igniting me, and he was still moving closer and closer to my mouth while waiting for my response.

My heart was pounding, my mind reeling. No one had ever...

"Edward, I've never... no one..." I was panicking, wanting nothing more at that moment than his lips on mine, but paralyzed with fear at what this would mean. I had completely avoided this act my entire life because I needed emotional distance from what I did, and I knew, instinctively, that this would change everything for me, for us.

But I wanted this with him. I wanted _everything_.

So I gave in and let him take me.

"Yes," I whispered, moving my gaze from his eyes to his beautiful mouth.

He smiled and quickly closed the space between us.

"Bella," he sighed, "my beautiful Bella...," and then he pressed his lips to mine.

_Bella._ He called me _Bella. _My childhood nickname. No one had called me Bella since my mother died. It was strangely familiar and strangely erotic all at the same time. I wanted to hear him say my name over and over. I wanted him to moan it, whisper it, scream it.

His tongue slipped into my mouth, and it felt like nothing I had ever felt before, pressing against mine, twisting, searching. Soft, warm, wet... electric. I wanted more.

"Say it again," I said against his lips. "My name... say it again."

He pulled back, just enough to look into my eyes, and gave me what I needed.

"_Bella_... _My Bella..._"

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**A/N: Again, so sorry this is so late. No excuse other than I'm a total procrastinator. Thanks to Mabarbarella, for being my most perverted friend, and keeping me knee deep in slashiness. Thanks to LovingLady for gently prodding me for the next chapter (haha), and thanks, as always, to my best friend and beta, LibbyLou862, for putting up with me when I finally get a chapter done, and then I expect her to read it immediately so I can post. :)**

**If you are reading this, please, please please leave me a review! (Does me begging you work as well as when TB Edward begs Bella? Well, maybe not in the same way, but you know what I mean.)**

**Disclaimer: All things "Twilight" belong to Stephanie Meyer. "Trunk Boy," however, is all mine.**


	23. Chapter 23

******************AUTHOR'S NOTE: I know, I know. My last update was in November, and that's pitiful! I'm really sorry that it took me this long, but I'll try to do better. Thanks for not giving up on me. I am not abandoning this story - I WILL finish it. :)**

******************AND, since it's been a while (isn't that a song?), you might want to go back and read Chapter 22 first, to refresh yourself. Cause three months is a looooooong time.**

******************WARNING: This story contains disturbing and sometimes violent material, as well as graphic sexual content. If violence bothers you, please do not read this story.**

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****Chapter 23**

The water was cold.

I'm not sure how much time had passed, because Edward was still kissing me, and I was kissing him back, and I was lost in the feel of his lips on mine, his warm, wet tongue in my mouth.

It was all so new to me, kissing, and it had been so long since _anything_ was new to me that I was completely overwhelmed by this simple act.

But the water was definitely cold, and in a brief moment of clarity, I decided that it was time to get out of the water, dry off, get warm. I knew what I wanted next - I wanted him in my bed.

I had never had a man in my bed before. As soon as I climbed out of the tub with that destination in mind, I realized that I had been imagining Edward in my bed since he first walked into my office. His soft skin against my sheets. His messy hair on my pillow. His delicious smell filling the air, intoxicating me.

I had fantasized for so many years about what it would be like to wake up in a man's arms, and I couldn't help but think that it hadn't happened yet because I had been waiting for it to be Edward.

I stepped out of the tub and grabbed a towel from the shelf. Quickly drying myself off, I wrapped the towel around me, tucking it tightly in place between my breasts. Edward was still in the bathtub, watching me with a smirk, considerably more confident than he had been only hours earlier in my basement. I shook my head to dispel that desperate and painful image, and I turned to him, offering him my hand.

"Here," I said roughly. "Time to get out." My voice was stern, but he seemed temporarily unaffected. He stepped out of the tub and stood on the thick terry mat in front of me, naked, wet, and hard. Jesus, he was beautiful. Perfect.

I couldn't wait to fuck him in my bed.

I pressed the soft towel to his skin, slowly drying him, inch by inch. He stood, immobile, his arms straight out, and let me wipe him down like a child. He watched me, his eyes following me as I moved down his body. He held his breath when I rubbed the towel between his legs, and he breathed out a soft moan as I moved to his back and stroked his round, soft cheeks.

When I was finished, I wrapped the towel around his waist and tucked it in tightly in front, as I had with my own. We stood, for an awkward moment or two, closely facing each other, bodies wrapped in towels, and I wondered what was next.

He surprised me by making the first move, slowly leaning forward until his lips brushed against mine. I let him kiss me for a moment or two, then pulled back from him, just enough to look at his face. His eyes were still closed, his lips reaching for mine. I took his hand in mine and pulled him towards my bedroom.

As we reached the edge of the bed, I grabbed the front of his towel, untucking the edge, and let it fall to the floor. I was hungry for him, and I let him see it, my eyes roaming the length of his naked body, yet again. I pushed him onto the bed, slowly removing my towel, wanting him to watch me, to see my need for him. I climbed on top of him and pressed my lips to his as I slid down on him, hard and throbbing.

I fucked him hard, mercilessly, until we both came.

Sweaty, and temporarily sated, I collapsed on the bed next to him, breathing hard, and tried to wrap my mind around the last few hours, everything that had happened, and where we were now. It had been quite an eventful day.

We lay there for a while, neither of us speaking, just catching our breath, slowing the pounding of our hearts. I was thinking about the person laying next to me, my leg touching his leg, and it was simple and perfect. Just enough contact to feel that he was here with me, that I hadn't imagined this entire day.

I was just drifting off to sleep when I felt the bed shift and heard his soft voice in the darkness.

"So..." he said softly.

I opened my eyes and turned my head to look at him. He had repositioned himself. He was laying on his side, his arm angled to prop up his head, and he was looking at me, smiling. He was still completely naked, as I was, and he seemed so comfortable. I gave him a quick look up and down, just because I could, and because I couldn't help but admire the overwhelming beauty of his body. He smiled at me and spoke again.

"So..." he said again.

"So what?" I quickly retorted, rolling to my side, facing him, matching his position. He chuckled.

"So... I'm curious. Can I ask you some questions, about... um... what you do?"

I paused for a moment, wondering exactly what he wanted to know, and whether or not I was going to tell him. But he knew so much already, more than anyone in the world.

"You can ask," I told him, "but that doesn't mean I'll answer." I figured that was the best route, see what he wanted to know, let him show _his_ hand first, and then I could decide what I was going to do.

"Okay," he said and grinned, looking down sheepishly at the bed, suddenly embarrassed and unsure of himself. Then he just blurted it out. "What did you do with Newton?"

I didn't react. I didn't blink. I didn't move in any way. But I kept my eyes locked with his, determined to figure out his angle, what he wanted. I'll admit that our nakedness made everything a little more strange, but I was still in control, and he knew it. I could have him tied and bound in minutes, completely helpless and at my mercy, but I didn't want to go there just yet. Let him speak his piece, see what he wanted.

But then he spoke again before I had a chance to.

"I mean, I know you let them go because I..."

"Because you..." I wanted him to finish that sentence, see what he thought he knew.

He swallowed hard, faltered for a few seconds, then he took a deep breath and continued.

"Because I tracked them down. _All_ of them." He watched my face as he said this, searching for some tiny indication that he had gone too far, that he was in trouble, but I kept my mask on... for now. He saw no immediate reaction from me, and assumed it was okay to continue. "They all said the same thing, the _exact_ same thing, about the time they were missing, unaccounted for. That's when I knew for sure."

"That's when you knew _what_, exactly?" I was a little pissed off at his cockiness. He was so sure of everything he was saying. I'm not sure why it annoyed me so much. Maybe I was upset because I had always thought that I was so covert, that no one had a clue to what I was doing. It was disconcerting, in the least, to find out that someone had known my secret.

But it was Edward, and I wanted him here, so maybe this would be okay. I reached up and brushed a piece of hair from his face.

"That's when I knew what you were doing. Not exactly, yet, but close enough." He paused for a moment, searching my eyes for permission to continue, some sort of proof that he was still in my good graces. He must have seen what he wanted, and he started again. "That you were... _taking_... boys and ... holding them in your basement... and then you would do something to their memory and then let them go. I didn't know what you did to them while you had them, not then, but I could guess."

I never answered him, never spoke. I just let his questions hang between us. He said his piece, what he thought he knew, and of course, he was perfectly correct. I still didn't know how to handle this, someone knowing my business, knowing _exactly_ what I had been doing, all this time.

We were silent for a few minutes, each of us processing what had happened so far. But then he spoke again.

"So, Isabella... _Bella_..." He tried out his new nickname for me again, but it seemed to stick in his throat this time, like a lump of dry bread. It felt less like the tender moment earlier when he let that slip out, and more like a session in my basement, which was not a place for endearments and pet names. He cleared his throat nervously, and started again.

"So... how did you get started? I mean, who was your first one? Why did you do it, that first time?" He saw the look on my face, and immediately backtracked. "You don't have to tell me, I mean, _obviously_ you don't have to tell me, I was just asking, just curious..." He twitched nervously a few times, then shook his head in my direction. "You know, just forget I said it, just... never mind."

I tried to remain stern and stoic, but he was just so fucking cute, backpedaling, blushing, nervous about asking me a question. He obviously knew a lot about my life, and I wanted him here with me. Actually, I couldn't imagine my life without him at this point. I needed him, and he needed me. This was going to be a very interesting relationship.

So I caved.

Well, that sounds weak, and I've never been weak, so I suppose that I should say instead that I _decided _to answer his questions, that I had figured out all the angles, and determined that his knowledge was not a threat to me.

But the reality was, he was cute, and naked, and in my bed. And I wanted to fuck him again. So I caved.

"It's okay," I said gently, and I stroked his face, my thumb rubbing the soft skin and rough beard of his jaw. "You can ask me anything."

He lifted his head and looked at me, pressing his cheek into my hand. It was such a tender gesture, and it made my head swim with questions. But I couldn't think about that now. I needed to answer his question.

So I told him about Ben, my first, how we met in that club in the Quarter, and how we developed a relationship of sorts. I told him about the night I lost control with him and how I realized then what I really wanted, and how I vowed never to lose control again.

After that, I explained, all the pieces fell into place. I did extensive research. I learned how to cover my tracks, how to create false identities and business fronts to make my purchases. It all came together when I found the house, with a raised basement buried in the ground on three sides, but with a door in the back of the house, leading into the garage. It was perfect. It gave me the privacy I would need to do my work.

I told him about the first one that I took, how I was unpracticed and unsure, and how everything went horribly wrong. i told him how it was the worst possible outcome and how I swore I would never lose another one. How I trained and practiced and researched and studied. By the time I took my second, I had perfected the routine and everything worked seamlessly, from capture to release.

I told him about the pills, how they worked, and how I discovered them. I told him about my mother, and the mall parking lot, and my move to the Northwest. And about the little pills that helped me forget.

He sat quietly and listened as I spoke. He didn't fidget or gasp or move at all. The only time he reacted was when I mentioned losing my first. He simply held his breath for a few seconds. As I continued talking, he let it out slowly, calming himself, silently accepting my past.

"I've been doing this for years now, and it's very fulfilling, but I've never really felt complete, until..."

"Until what?" he asked breathlessly, his eyes wide and hopeful. He knew what my answer would be, and he wanted to hear it out loud, to make it real.

I raised my hand to his face again, rubbing my thumb across his bottom lip, that goddamn bottom lip that I adored, and I gave him a small smile.

"Until I met you, Edward."

He blushed and smiled widely, placing his hand over mine on his face, and gave it a small squeeze. I knew I was experiencing some emotion I never had before, but I was determined not to try to name it. I had a paranoid fear that if I named it, if I identified it, it would disappear completely.

I changed the subject quickly, not quite regretting what I had just said, but also not ready to discuss it at length.

"A few years ago, I had some upgrades done to the basement, internal camera system, keypad door locking system..."

"I know," he interjected, the corner of his mouth just turning up. He had that look again. The one he used to show me back in the beginning. The one that said "I'm in on your secret." The one that said "I know something."

I waited. I knew that he wanted to tell me something, and if I waited long enough, he would eventually blurt it out. I was determined to keep the upper hand here. And I didn't have to wait long.

He started to fidget, chewing on his lip, eyes darting around the room, but barely lighting on me. Too nervous to meet my gaze.

Finally, he exhaled a deep breath that he had been holding, and he looked down at his hands before he spoke.

"I know about the door and the cameras because..." he said quickly, his words running together. "Because I installed them." His words hung in the air between us for a while, the room silent and cold and still. He finally raised his head to look at me, the cockiness from moments ago completely gone, replaced with fear and uncertainty.

I knew he needed me to say something, anything, to tell him it was alright, that I wasn't shocked or upset, that he was still mine, that I still wanted him. All of that was true of course, but I couldn't let him know that, just yet. In truth, I needed a minute or two to process what he had just told me. Old habits die hard, and I had spent the better part of my life planning and strategizing and looking at every possible outcome before acting. I had to be _sure_ of the outcome before I did anything. No surprises. No mistakes.

My mind was spinning with possibilities. Recalling our first meeting, everything he said. Going further back, to the day the camera system and door were installed. Searching my memory for anything, any hint that what he said was true.

What bothered me the most was that I hadn't known any of this. He had completely blindsided me. And why? What was his motivation? Why had he gone to such extremes? I had to know before I made any final, irrevocable decisions.

So I mustered up some calm that I didn't feel, and I smiled at him.

"Well," I said with a forced chuckle, "I guess it's your turn, then." I wanted him to start talking, and he did. No hesitancy. Either he felt safe, which was anything but the truth, or he just wanted to talk. Either way, I was going to get what I needed.

"Um... well," he cleared his throat nervously and started telling his story. He rambled here and there, but basically stayed on point. I didn't need to question him or prod him into the right direction. He gave me what I wanted.

"I grew up here, in the Garden District." The Garden District of New Orleans was old money, family money. "My family had money. I have a trust fund, investments. I don't need money." He met my eyes to make a point. "I don't _need_ to work."

"And your family?" I had to ask a question or two, just to clarify some information that I needed to bank for the future, if there was to be a future.

"We're not close. I mean, I don't see them at all anymore. They're nothing to me." And then he looked at me, sensing what I needed, what I was looking for. "It's just me now."

He paused for a minute, waiting to see if I had more questions, which I didn't, so he continued.

"I had a lot of jobs, different jobs. Not for the money, just because I was looking... I needed something, but I didn't know what. I knew I was missing something, that I was meant to do something, to _be_ something, but I didn't know what that was. I learned a lot about a lot of different things. I kinda get obsessive like that... I find something that interests me, and I have to know everything about it. I developed some pretty good technical skills, computer skills, stuff like that."

I was trying to be patient, but I wanted him to get on with it, to get to the meat. But I let him continue.

"So a couple of years ago, I was working for this security company." He paused, to let me know he was getting to what I wanted. "And I went to this house to install a system... a camera system and a security door." He swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and then continued. "I remember thinking, 'What is this person keeping down here? What could be so valuable that they needed to keep people out like that?' But then I thought, maybe they're not keeping people out... maybe they're keeping something _in."_

He looked up at me at that point, desperate for my acceptance, something to indicate that he should keep going. That he hadn't overstepped his bounds.

But I was fascinated. Fascinated by this secret story that had been going on all around me, that I knew nothing about. I should have been angry, but I was intrigued. I wanted him to keep going.

"I couldn't get that thought out of my head. I looked all around the basement, but it told me nothing. So after I finished the install, I wandered upstairs. I had to know more about the owner of the house, some clue to what they were doing, who they were. I walked around the living room and started looking at the pictures. And then I saw something I didn't expect."

He waited, thinking I would ask him, but I didn't. I had all the patience in the world, and this was his story to tell. He met my eyes and held them before continuing.

"I saw you." That admission seemed to suck the breath right out of him, and he had to pause for a minute to gather his composure. I wanted to put my hands on him, stroke his skin, assure him that it would be okay, but I couldn't. Not yet. So I waited.

"I saw... a picture of you. The most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life. And... not just beautiful, but something else... There was something in your eyes, something that spoke to me. And I knew, I _knew_ right at that moment..."

This time I couldn't help myself. I had to ask. I had to know.

"What, Edward? What did you know?" I whispered.

"I knew... that you were my other half. You were what I had been searching for for so long. That I would never want anything or anyone as much as I wanted you. That I could spend the rest of my life happy if I could be in your life, however you would have me."

He was so desperate, so raw. He had opened himself up completely, laid himself out in front of me, completely bare, asking only for my acceptance.

And his story was remarkably like my own. Wandering through life, looking for something, but not knowing what, until the day it walked into my office. I knew, as well.

So I gave him a little of what he needed to continue. I touched my fingers to his face, brushing across his hard jaw, then lightly touching his lips. Pressing there for a beat or two, a promise. Then I pulled my hand back, wanting him to continue. I needed to hear the rest.

"Keep going," I encouraged gently.

He told me how he followed me from the house to the agency. How he waited for the right opportunity, and the Sales Intern job seemed like fate. He took the job just to be near me, to hear my voice, to watch me move. He wanted to know everything about me, to see if what he thought he knew was true.

He admitted that he started following me on a regular basis. Parking outside of my house at night, listening.

That's when I stopped him.

"Listening? What do you mean, listening?"

He realized his error immediately, but he was committed to telling me everything, no secrets, so he took a deep breath and kept going. He told me that he had installed a bug in the basement, on that first visit, knowing that it would be useful in the future, but not really understanding the implications at the time.

How he would sit in his car outside my house at night, and listen. To what I was doing. With _them_.

Jesus fucking Christ.

What had he heard? What _hadn't_ he heard? He knew everything. He knew what I did, what I said. He heard them scream and beg.

My mind was spinning. I knew he had an idea of what I did, and that he was here with me willingly, but I never imagined that he knew _exactly_ what he was in for. How could he know that and still want it? Unless...

Unless he was just like me. But exactly my opposite. He wanted what I had to give. My other half.

I knew, but I didn't _know_. Until now.

"Then when Newton disappeared, I knew. I knew where he was and what you were doing with him. I couldn't take it anymore, I had to let you know how I felt, what I could be for you. That you didn't need him. That all you needed was me."

"The coffee room..."

"Yeah... I'm sorry about that, I didn't mean to..." He hung his head and stared at his hands again. "It was the only way I could..." He mumbled the rest, and I didn't ask for clarification. I knew what he meant. I knew what he did. Maybe it wasn't the best way to proceed, but it certainly got my attention.

"After that, I thought maybe things would change. That you would want _me_ now, not him. That you would finally see, what I could be for you. That you didn't need anyone else ever again." He sounded pained, like he was reliving that day, that night. I remembered now. I knew what was coming.

"I sat in my car that night, listening. And... when I heard you with him, with _Newton_, I... I couldn't believe it... I felt... betrayed... I didn't know _how_ you could be with _me_ and then return to _him_, right where you left off." He was breathing hard, speaking so fast I could hardly understand him. But he was almost there, almost.

"I broke. I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't just sit in that car and listen to you with him. I had to be in that house, in that room. I had to see... So I knocked on the door." He collapsed on his back, knowing he had come to the end of his story, because once I answered the door, it became _our_ story, and I knew the rest.

We didn't speak for several minutes.

I let him lay there, breathing, collecting his thoughts, composing himself. He knew where he was at that moment, and that I wanted him there. He just needed reassurance. Constant reassurance. If he only knew how important he was to me already. I didn't know if I could ever let him know that, give him that much power.

"Tell me about your tattoos." I touched the one on his upper arm, the barbed wire running all the way around, wanting him to start there.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, and then he seemed calmer. He seemed to be able to put the last few minutes away and concentrate on what I was asking. He slowly opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling as he started to speak.

"That one," he sighed softly. "That was the first one I got. I didn't really know what I was doing then, what I wanted. I just knew that I needed something... permanent to show how I was feeling, who I was." He smiled as he continued. "It was the first thing I saw. It's kind of trite, I know." He smiled shyly, embarrassed.

"And this one?" I reached across him and touched his other arm.

"It's a whip." He said plainly. Well, I could see that it was a whip, but I wanted an explanation.

"It's just... a whip. I mean, I guess there must have been something in my subconscious that made me pick it, something I didn't know about myself yet. But after I got it, it seemed to open something up in me. And I started researching, as I do." He grinned. "I discovered that an entire subculture existed, of sex and pain and ... servitude."

He almost whispered that last word, like he wasn't allowed to say it out loud. It was with awe and... reverence. Of course, I shouldn't be surprised. I knew this about him already. But it was thrilling to hear him say it out loud. I stroked his bottom lip again, and he slid his tongue out just enough to graze my thumb. The feeling was immediate and overwhelming, and I wanted to climb on top of him just to feel him inside me again.

But I wanted to hear the rest of his story. He had some sort of Asian symbol on his chest, so I touched that one next.

"And this"?

He looked down at my hand, watching as I used my fingertips, then my nails, to outline the ancient symbol. As he felt the slow burn, he let a soft hiss escape from his lips, and arched his back slightly, pushing his flesh harder against me.

"It's a Japanese Kanji symbol," he said in a breathy moan, squeezing his eyes shut. He was starting to move his hips slightly, and his dick was almost at full attention. I wasn't sure why exactly. If it was the feeling of my hands on him, causing him arousal and pain, or if it was the cathartic release of telling me his story, and explaining the ink he put on his body to remind himself.

"What does it mean, why did you get it?" I asked him, my fingers still moving across his skin.

"It's a symbol for... for obedience." The words rushed out of him. "It was right before I saw you for the first time. I knew, I _knew_ that I needed something, that something big was coming for me, and I just had to wait for it. I knew that whatever it was, that it would own me, and I would give myself completely. I just didn't know what I was waiting for. _Then_."

Everything he said was perfect. It was exactly what I wanted to hear, exactly what I needed. There was only one thing left I needed to know, well, for now. I let my hand trail down his hard stomach, past his navel, stopping just above his pubic hair. His stomach was quivering, his cock hard and straining.

"_Fuck_," he whispered with a soft moan, reaching up to me with his hips, begging for me to touch him. He knew better than to make any overt moves, but his body didn't seem to know that. I would touch him, I would give him what he wanted, but not now, not yet. Last was the tattoo at the bottom of his stomach, just above his hairline, the newest one of all, evident from the dark, sharp ink.

I slid up next to him, until my body was touching his, my mouth at his ear. I slid my fingers back and forth across the black ink as I whispered in his ear.

"Tell me about this one, Edward. It's new, isn't it?" I ran my tongue along the edge of his ear, sucking the lobe into my mouth and giving it a small bite. He moaned and thrust up into my hand. "Tell me, Edward."

"It's... it's Hindi..." he muttered.

"And when did you get this one?" I was breathing on his neck now, my lips barely ghosting across his skin. He was breathing much heavier and softly moaning now.

"I... I got it... a few weeks after I saw your picture for the first time."

I didn't see that coming, but I had figured it had something to do with me. I licked and kissed his neck and asked him one more question.

"What does it mean, Edward?" I whispered, and he turned his head to look at me, to meet my eyes before he spoke.

"It means something like 'the fruit of patience is sweet'... that anything worth having is worth waiting for... that if I am patient, I will get my reward... and I have."

I was speechless. I couldn't think for a minute.

I'm never surprised. I'm always prepared. I always know the answer before I ask a question, and I always have three different exits to every situation. I always think ahead.

But there was no way I could have possibly seen this coming, or more importantly, know how it would make me feel. I never imagined that I could ever want someone as much as I wanted Edward. And I never imagined that anyone could ever want me, as well.

So I did the only thing I knew how to do, how to show him how much he meant to me. How much the marks he put on his body meant to me.

I lifted myself up, leaning over him, and I pressed my lips to the first tattoo, then across to the other arm, to the whip. I moved down to his chest, stroking the Japanese symbol, then kissing it gently, with respect.

I moved slowly down his body with my tongue, and he lifted himself up on his elbows to watch me. I had tasted his skin many times before, but only with him securely tied down. There was a freedom in the newness and uncertainty of the moment... it was new for both of us.

When I reached his newest tattoo, the one that I knew he got just for me, I paused for a moment, watching him as he watched me. His breathing was shallow and quick, and his cock was hard, straining towards his stomach. I took it in my hand and moved it gently out of my way... I wanted to get to his ink.

As I ran my tongue over the fresh black letters, I slid my hand slowly up his length, running my thumb across the head. He gasped and fell back to the bed, exclaiming loudly.

"_Fuck._"

I took a long swipe across his belly, hovering between his legs.

"Was that a question?" He was mine now, and I wanted to play. I wanted him to feel the need that I felt, the hunger, the ache. I brushed my lips across his length, and he hissed.

"Please, Isabella," he whispered in the dark. "Please don't do this to me. Not tonight."

He was begging already, but for what? I had barely begun. I had so much more that I wanted to do, but I loved the way he sounded when he begged, and I wanted to hear more. I flicked my tongue across his swollen head. I was still leaning over him, so I moved my hair so that he could be sure to see my face, but his eyes were screwed shut, clenched tight, trying desperately to maintain the control that he knew I needed from him.

But that was not to be tonight. Something had changed between us, a shift in our relationship, in the balance of power. Up until this moment, I would have said that I was completely confident that he understood exactly what I expected from him, wanted from him, _needed_ from him.

So it was with complete surprise that I suddenly found myself on my back, Edward on top of me, pinning me to the bed. He had somehow flipped me over and was holding my hands above my head, binding me with his body. I couldn't figure out exactly what happened, or how it had happened. Even more curious, _why_ it had happened.

I pushed against his hands, an earnest effort to free myself, but he was stronger than I remembered, and I was completely unable to move.

"No, Isabella, not tonight," he said as he hovered above me, the muscles in his jaw twitching, his eyes wide and hot. He wedged his knee between my legs, opening me up to him. "Tonight, you're _mine,_" he growled, and then he pushed slowly inside me.

And this time, I let him.

It felt so different from before, when he bent me over the counter in the dark coffee room, slamming into me and taking his pleasure.

Tonight, it was slow, and sensual, and full of emotions that neither of us could name. I wanted him, just like this, just for now. We were both taking and giving. We were equals.

I was still Isabella Swan, however, and this was still my house, my domain. And he still belonged to me, and I needed to remind him of that fact. That he was fucking me because I was _letting_ him fuck me.

"_You're going to pay for this, Edward_," I whispered hoarsely in his ear, lifting my hips to meet his.

He stilled inside of me for a moment and grinned, squeezing my hands affectionately, a silent promise.

"_I'm counting on it, Bella_," he whispered back, and he crushed his lips to mine.

* * *

**A/N: I really liked this chapter, how it came out, how they finally started talking, telling each of their stories. So we know more now, and THEY know more about each other. It's all on the table, they just have to figure out the day to day now. I hope you liked it, as well. Lemme know. **

**About 4 chapters left, then a few fun outtakes. Of course, at this rate, that'll be somewhere in 2015. :)**

**I asked Summerleigh81 if I could quote something she said about my story: _"_**_This story is just so twisted and fucked...and I just love it!" _**That made me smile.**

**Thanks again for "gentle reminders" from LovingLady and Lizconno - always glad to hear from you, especially when I NEED a kick in the ass! Keep em coming!**

**Hugs to Mabarbarella for prereading between breast feedings and wisdom teeth extractions. Yeah, that wasn't even an exaggeration. She really did that. And she makes me laugh. Consistently. And it's usually about something perverted.**

**And much, much love to my beta and best friend, LibbyLou862 who waits patiently while I'm NOT writing, but then when I finally finish a chapter, I want her to beta it IMMEDIATELY. And she always does. :) **

**Disclaimer: All things "Twilight" belong to Stephanie Meyer. "Trunk Boy," however, is all mine.**


	24. Chapter 24

******************A/N: I know. It's been a while. I'm sorry. :(**

******************WARNING: This story contains disturbing and sometimes violent material, as well as graphic sexual content. If violence bothers you, please do not read this story.**

* * *

**Chapter 24**

I was still Isabella Swan, however, and this was still my house, my domain. He still belonged to me, and I needed to remind him of that fact. That he was fucking me because I was _letting_ him fuck me.

"_You're going to pay for this, Edward_," I whispered hoarsely in his ear, lifting my hips to meet his.

He stilled inside of me for a moment and grinned, squeezing my hands affectionately, a silent promise.

"_I'm counting on it, Bella_," he whispered back, and he crushed his lips to mine.

* * *

I loosened the leather cuffs on his ankles first, and he whispered his gratitude immediately, softly moaning with each exhalation of breath.

"I told you," I said as I moved to his wrists. "I told you that you would pay for what you did. I don't make empty threats."

As I fiddled with the buckle, I couldn't stop myself from admiring him in his current position, glowing with sweat and pain and lust and come. He was covered in angry, red stripes, evidence of my cane on his skin. It was a new tool, something I bought specifically with Edward in mind. He wanted what I had to give, and I wanted to give it to him in new and creative ways.

"I know," he said solemnly, rubbing his sore wrists, "but..." He mumbled, not finishing the sentence.

"But what?" I demanded quickly. I wasn't going to play those kinds of games with him.

He cleared his throat and looked straight into my eyes, waiting, thinking. He wasn't afraid of me, that wasn't it. It was more like he was gathering his words, that he wanted to say the right thing.

"I know it was wrong, and that I would be punished, but … last night in your bed, well, I would do it all again, just to have you… like that."

Then he sat up on the bed and touched his hand to my face, gently cupping my cheek and rubbing the skin with his thumb.

"Thank you," he whispered and pressed his lips to mine.

He moved slowly, but I didn't stop him. I didn't want to.

Jesus, what was happening to me?

* * *

That next day, I took a day off of work to get Edward settled into my house, into my life. We needed to resolve the business end of our relationship, the day-to-day details that would frame our lives together.

I drove him to my office garage, and he picked up his car, which had been there since the night I took him in my trunk. He would not be a prisoner in my house, chained in the basement like the others. He would be free to do as he pleased, knowing that if he strayed outside of what I considered to be acceptable, there would be hell to pay. If he wanted to live in my house, he would have to play by my rules.

I had a key made for him, for my house, and giving it to him felt like some kind of ritual, like I was giving him a piece of me, and his acceptance of the key was an agreement of sorts. I should have been bothered by the thought of someone having complete access to my life, but I wasn't. I trusted him. I didn't understand why, but I did.

I got him a new cell phone with a new number. I wanted him to leave his old life behind completely, to live only in my world, and I didn't want him being tempted by old acquaintances. We programmed our numbers into each other's phones - I wanted to be able to reach him at any time. He was to be at my disposal twenty-four hours a day, ready to do whatever I asked... _be_ whatever I asked.

He was living in a small, cheap apartment for some reason, and he didn't have many personal belongings. We gathered them up and moved them into spare bedroom upstairs - that was to be his personal space and where he would sleep, when he wasn't either in my bed or in the basement. We cancelled his lease and his utilities the next day. We were both jumping into this arrangement head-first, fully invested, and trusting each other blindly.

Trust. A foreign concept, but now a part of my life.

Once he was settled in, we started to discuss expectations. The reality of our situation. What I wanted. I almost asked him what _he_ wanted, but that would have made me sound weak. I wasn't supposed to care about him or his needs.

I laid everything out for him, very clearly, so he would know exactly what he had gotten himself into. If he wanted to run, he should run now.

I told him that he was mine. _Mine_.

I told him he was expected to answer his cell phone when I called. That there was no excuse for missed calls, and there would be consequences.

I told him I would call him every day when I left the office to come home, and that he should greet me when I arrived. Generally, I wanted him naked and kneeling in the foyer, waiting for me. But there would be times when I wanted something different, and I expected him to follow my instructions explicitly. If he didn't, there would be consequences.

The rest, I told him, we would work out as we went.

And we did.

We settled in, established a routine, worked out the kinks, so to speak.

* * *

Time passed.

It was great between us, the give and take. Well, he gave and I took, depending on how you looked at it. I think we were both fulfilled, both getting what we needed.

Then I started to get... itchy.

I was restless, needing something, I don't know what. I found myself pushing him harder and farther than before, really stretching his limits. But he kept up.

Then one day, he surprised me, which isn't easy to do. Nor is it usually a good idea. I don't like the lack of control in the unknown.

I was sitting at my office desk, working on a presentation, when my cell phone chirped. An incoming text message. From Edward.

Interesting. He never sentme anything. He only replied to messages that I send to him. I was amused and curious, and I opened it immediately. It contained only four words:

"_Check your personal email" _

Interestingly phrased. No question, no pleasantries. Almost a statement. Or God help him, an order.

Despite my reservations about the wording of his request, I opened a browser on my PC and checked my email account. There was only one new message, from Edward. The subject line said, "Lock your door," and the body contained a link to a website, nothing more.

Again, a statement. He was getting a little ballsy, and I wasn't sure if I liked it or not. But the message was intriguing.

I clicked on the link.

It took several seconds to load, and then a few more seconds for me to realize what I was looking at: my basement. Specifically, the _bed_ in my basement.

I thought it was a still shot, just a picture, until I saw a blur move across the camera. Then the blur moved onto the bed and stopped. It was Edward, completely naked, and sitting in the middle of the bed. He was looking into the camera, at me, or what he imagined was me, since this wasn't any sort of two-way camera system. He held his cell phone in his hand, typed a few keys, then waited.

My phone chirped.

I opened the message from Edward:

"_Command me."_

Oh fuck, yeah.

He was just waiting, naked and hard, the phone dangling from his hand.

It took me a second, but I finally realized what I had, what he was doing, and I jumped out of my seat and ran to the door. I closed it and flipped the lock with a soft click. I leaned back against the door, closed my eyes, and took a couple of breaths. I needed to calm down a little. My heart was pounding.

I ran back to my desk, sat comfortably, and pulled out my phone. I typed in a quick sentence and hit _Send_.

"_Kneel on the bed, legs spread wide."_

There was a short delay between live action and what was displayed on my screen, so it took a few seconds for his phone to beep. He looked surprised for a moment, then the corner of his mouth turned up as he realized that I had agreed to play his little game. He read the message, and I swear I saw his cock twitch.

He was already on the bed, so it didn't take much for him to get into the position that I had requested. He spread his knees slowly, looking straight into the camera, knowing that I was watching his every move.

This was hot. _Really _fucking hot. And I was aching between my legs and desperately needing a release. I quickly typed another message.

"_Stroke your cock. Slow and even."_

I watched again as he read my message. He took a long breath and put the phone in his other hand. Then he started touching himself. Slow and even, just like I asked. He was always so good at following commands. He never questioned me, never challenged me. He did what I asked, gave me what I wanted.

I typed another message.

"_Long tight stroke. Thumb the head. Squeeze until I say stop."_

He read the message and slowed his hand to a stop. Then, he wrapped his hand around the base, tightly, and started sliding his hand upward. Very slowly. I could tell that he was increasing the pressure of his hand the closer he got to the head. By the time he reached it, it was almost purple. He leaned down and placed the phone on the bed in front of him, arranged it so he could see if a message came across. Then he used his now free hand to complete my request, drawing his thumb across the wet head. He was still squeezing with his other hand.

I slid my hand under my skirt, along the inside of my thigh, and lightly stroked the outside of my panties. The feeling was instant and electric, the light touch rubbing soft fabric against my bare skin. I watched him like this for several seconds, his thumb circling around his swollen head, his hand firmly holding the shaft. He was biting his lip now, his eyelids half closed.

I knew that look.

He was close.

I sent him a quick message. Simple and to the point.

"_Stop."_

He looked down at his phone, anticipating a different response, and his shoulders visibly dropped as he read my short text. But his hands immediately stopped.

He was so good.

His discipline, his perfect submission, it aroused me further, and I slid my hand beneath the silky fabric of my underwear. My skin was slick, and my fingers moved easily to where I wanted them, stroking softly, but quickly.

Now I wanted more. I wanted something different. I wanted to see what he would do for me, how far he would go. I didn't doubt for a minute that he would do exactly as I asked, anything I wanted, so I typed another message with one hand, and hit _Send_.

"_Hands and knees. Face away from me."_

He smiled a little, and I saw his lips moving. "Yes, Isabella," he mouthed. Something about seeing him say it, but not hearing it, just exploded inside me, and I think I moaned out loud. My fingers moved faster.

He turned away from the camera and bent over, moving the phone again so that he could see it. He spread his legs automatically, knowing it was something I liked, and something I would want to see.

Fuck, he was beautiful. Spread out for me, waiting for my command. I was tempted to leave him like that and rush home. Burst through the door and down the wooden stairs, and get my hands on him. My skin on his skin. My lips and tongue on his body. Hear his moans and his screams.

But I didn't. He went to all the trouble to figure out how to broadcast from my security camera, and knowing his skills as I did, I was sure that it was secure. I didn't have to worry. And he took the initiative to play a game with me that he knew I would like. He knew that I loved to control him, more than anything else, to watch his humility, his obedience.

I typed out two quick, successive messages.

"_Finger fuck yourself."_

"_Face on the bed. Stroke with free hand until you come."_

His head dropped as he read the messages. I couldn't hear it, but I could feel his moan through the screen. I knew what he liked, too.

He looked back at me, over his shoulder, his mouth drawn up in that cocky half smile. He knew I was watching, and he was giving me a show. He drew one hand up to his thigh, his fingers softly trailing across his skin, teasing me. I would allow this, briefly, because I knew where he was going, what he was doing, as long as he did as I asked. And he did, his middle finger circling, pressing, easing in.

Damn, I wish I were there. I planned to fucking wear him out when I got home.

He arched his back and pushed his ass in the air, moving his hips against the motion of his finger. His eyes closed again, and he ran his tongue languidly across his bottom lip.

He leaned down until his face was pressed into the mattress, freeing the arm that was supporting the upper half of his body. He immediately reached between his legs, firmly grabbed his cock, and started stroking at an urgent pace.

After a minute or two of rapid stroking, I could see his lips moving again. It only took me a few seconds to figure out what he was saying.

"_Please... please... please..."_

The begging put me over the top, it always did. I love to see a man beg for his release, for my permission, and Edward was effectively communicating his hunger, his need, to me through a soundless computer monitor. I had already given my permission, but he was well-trained, and needed the reassurance of a final consent.

I sent him one last text.

"_Come for me."_

He lifted his head just enough to read the message on his phone. He looked like he was making a sound, a loud groan, I imagined, and then fell back to the bed. He worked fingers and hands at a rapidly increasing and furious pace, his hips pumping and grinding in an uneven rhythm. I matched his pace between my legs, waiting for his final release.

He froze for a second or two, his body shivering, his back arching, and then he exploded. He turned slightly, towards the camera, so that I could see.

Watching him, I felt the warmth quickly starting in my limbs, tingling, building, then in my stomach, and finally exploding between my thighs, letting the release claim me completely for a minute or two. I panted softly, biting my lip to keep from making noise, and watched Edward doing virtually the same thing - trying to catch his breath, although I knew that one orgasm was just the beginning for Edward. We had a long night ahead of us, and I was confident in his ability to keep up with me.

I had just started working through a mental list of what I wanted to do to Edward, when a loud, insistent knocking interrupted my focus.

I pulled my hand from between my legs, wiping my hand on the soft material of my skirt, smoothing the fabric back into place. I took a deep breath and composed myself.

"Yes?"

The doorknob rattled as someone tried to open the door. I had completely forgotten that I had locked it.

"Just a minute," I said, as I walked quickly to the door and flipped the lock. Just then, Jessica opened the door and stepped inside. There was someone standing behind her, in the hallway, but I couldn't see at this angle.

"Ms. Swan, I wanted to introduce you to our new intern, if you have a minute." Jessica looked and sounded bored, as usual, and she stared out the window behind me as she waited.

"That's about all I have, Jessica. A minute. Make it quick," I replied sharply, my mind occupied with my previous and future activities.

"Ms. Swan, this is..." she started, and then realized that the new intern was still standing in the hallway. She twisted around, left, then right, searching for, and then finding him, then encouraging him into the room.

He stepped inside, just past Jessica, and he instantly filled the room. He was enormous, well over six feet tall, with skin the color of rust, but with a soft silky sheen. He was very muscular, and I wanted to touch him, to see if he felt like I thought he would feel. He was cocking and intimidating, and looking down at me, smiling. He took another half step towards me, and his nostrils flared suddenly. Recognition played across his face and his smile broadened. He could _smell_ me, my arousal.

Jessica started to speak again, but the intern interrupted her, with his hand reaching out towards me. I grasped it firmly in mine, the one that had so recently been between my legs, and squeezed.

"Hello Ms. Swan," he said in a deep voice. "I'm Jacob Black."

* * *

**AN: Only one chapter left. Hopefully it won't take me 6 more months to write it! :)**

**Disclaimer: All things "Twilight" belong to Stephanie Meyer. "Trunk Boy," however, is all mine.**


	25. Chapter 25

**WARNING: This chapter contains disturbing and especially violent material, as well as graphic (but consensual) sexual content. If violence bothers you, please do not read this story.**

**This is the last chapter of my twisted, fucked up love story. Notes at the end.**

* * *

**Chapter 25**

"Miss Swan?"

It was that new intern, Jacob Black, standing in my doorway, holding papers and grinning. He looked at me like that every time he saw me now, like he thought he knew something.

So I ignored him.

After a few minutes of him standing there waiting for me to acknowledge him, which I refused to do, I heard him snicker.

I could feel my control slipping the louder he got, the longer he stood there, and I knew I had to rein it in before I did something that I regretted in a very public and very irrevocable way.

I could picture it already, I could taste it, feel it in every cell in my body - my office door closed, a quick zap of my taser, and that big lumbering bitch would be fucking _mine_. Oh Jesus, the look on his face when he woke up and realized he couldn't move. And then the cherry on top - that it was _me _that had done it. The angry sounds of his screams... deep, booming sounds… growling, roaring like a trapped animal. His anxiety increasing as he pulled harder and harder on his bindings, the realization finally setting in that he was at _my_mercy. Sweat beading on his forehead. Rippling muscles contracting and releasing... The noises he would make...

"_Miss Swan_?"

Jessica was standing next to Jacob, and she stared at me with a furrowed brow, obviously confused by my actions. I quickly covered my fantasy lapse with a burst of anger, which was normal behavior for me, and somewhat expected, and I snapped at Jessica.

"_What_, Jessica? _What _do you want? What is _so _fucking important that you have to _barge _in here when I'm obviously fucking working and _harass _me like this?"

Jessica, having worked for me for several years now, didn't bat an eye.

"I sent Jacob to your office with these contracts that need to be signed. We have to messenger them out before closing. When he didn't return promptly, I came to check on him."

She said it so matter-of-factly, so calmly. I've often wondered what it would be like to have _her_ in my basement, tied down, and whimpering, but the fantasy always stopped there because the thought of her naked body with that bored smirk on her face made me fucking sick. But it _would _be nice to teach her some fucking manners.

I didn't look at Jacob. I willed myself not to, and I was incredibly strong when I needed to be. I trained my eyes on Jessica and held out my hand impatiently.

"Well? Give me the goddamned contracts! What are you waiting for?" I screamed at her, a little excessively, even for me.

She grabbed the folder out of Jacob's hand, walked calmly to my desk, and laid several documents out for my signature, complete with red Post-it Note arrows pointing to the signature line.

"Sign here, here, and here," she pointed, bored.

I huffed and grabbed my pen, scrawling my name on each paper, then thrust the stack back at her.

"Thank you, Ms. Swan," she said tersely, grabbed the papers, and walked out. "Jacob, come with me," she told the intern as she breezed out into the hallway.

But he didn't move. He just stood there, looking at me, hungrily, his grin growing, slow and wide. Like a wild dog eyeing a piece of meat. It was unnerving.

I had to get my shit together.

"Black!" I barked at him. He was still staring at me - he had never stopped - so I leaned forward slightly, lowered my voice to what I hoped was more than slightly dangerous, and ordered him away. "Get the _fuck _out of my office, and _close _the fucking door."

He didn't move for a second or two, and his grin grew even wider, his nostrils flaring like a fucking animal.

"Yes, _Ma'am_, Ms. Swan," he chuckled, still glaring lasciviously at me, actually running his eyes up and down my body, assessing. After a moment, he laughed again, turned, and left.

I stared at the door for several minutes, my anger building past anything I had ever experienced at work, and I knew _something _had to give. Eventually.

But who would it be? Me? Or _him_?

* * *

I walked through the front door of my house, slamming the door loudly behind me. I hadn't called first, as I usually did, to give Edward a small notice of my arrival, allowing him a brief window to prepare himself. I _wanted_ to catch him off guard. I knew that wasn't playing fair, but I had no interest in anyone's needs but my own at this point.

I stood in the foyer, heart pounding, fists clenched, my misdirected rage growing quickly beyond control.

"_Edward_!" I bellowed. "Get the _fuck_ down here... _now_!"

He was upstairs, and I could hear him scrambling across the upper floor, a loud crashing noise as something fell to the floor, and then the pounding of his bare feet as he barreled down the stairs. He was panting, out of breath, when he finally appeared in front of me, shirtless, shoeless, wearing only a pair of worn, low slung jeans.

"Bella, you're home –" he started, then his demeanor quickly changed as he noticed my expression, my stance, my growing rage. Confusion crossed his face for a brief moment, then fear, regret, and immediate submission.

He fell to his knees before me, staring at the floor, not daring to meet my eyes.

"Isabella," he corrected. "Please forgive me." The confusion was still evident in his voice, obviously not knowing what he had done wrong, what error he had committed to cause such extreme displeasure and disappointment. Poor boy. It had nothing to do with him, but he was here, and Black was not. Someone had to pay.

I grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head back, but he still refused to meet my eyes. Wise move.

"Get your ass down to the basement, boy. _Now," _I growled at him_._ "Apparently, you need a fresh lesson on who's in charge in this house, and what your role is here." I pulled his head to the side, towards the basement door, and dragged him behind me. He followed on his hands and knees, the humiliation of the position feeding a growing need in me at that moment. He crawled down the wooden stairs, clumsily, falling a few times, but I pulled him along behind me, until we reached the bed.

"Get those pants off and get on all fours," I barked. He quickly complied, his confusion growing, but never questioning me. Once he was naked, his beautiful body presented for me, I grabbed a few items from the cabinet on the far wall, then gave him a brief explanation.

"I'm not going to tie you down tonight, but if you flinch or move away or disobey me in any fucking way, you will feel pain like you have never felt before. _Do I make myself clear_?"

"Y-y-yes Isabella," he mumbled softly, his voice trembling.

"I'm sorry, _what_ was that? I couldn't fucking _hear_ you. Try that again." I had the leather strap in my hand, and I brought it quick and hard across his bare ass. He screamed, not expecting my unexplained wrath and the quick pain, but he didn't move from his position.

"Yes, Isabella!" he replied louder, his voice wavering at bit at the end.

I struck him again and again, waiting for the screams that I so needed to hear.

Eventually, they came, and they fed my cruel desires. I dropped the leather strap to the floor and stared at his bright, hot ass, pleased with my work.

When I entered him with the strap-on, it was quick and hard, and he screamed again, unprepared. He didn't move away from me, however, knowing what was in his immediate future if he did. I grabbed his hair and yanked his head back again, pulling back in rhythm with each hard thrust of my plastic cock. I closed my eyes, reveling in my power, listening to the grunts and moans that Edward was making, and I imagined that I was fucking that cocky Jacob Black. I pushed and pulled, harder and harder, picturing the moment when he finally broke, tears streaming down his face, begging for my mercy. I wanted to own him. I _needed_ to own him.

It was only minutes later that I came, hard and long, Edward a broken, whimpering lump beneath me.

I should have felt guilty. I should have taken immediate care of him, apologized for my unexplained behavior, reassuring him that he had done nothing wrong, that it was me, that I was obsessed and needy, and he was simply there.

But I didn't. Because he wasn't _my_ Edward at the moment. He was still Jacob Black, and I still needed to put him in his place.

I crawled off the bed, leaving my toys and tools scattered about the room.

"Clean this up, I'm going upstairs. You're staying down here tonight." And I turned and walked up the stairs, hearing his soft sobs behind me, never looking back.

* * *

I went to work early the next morning, feeling somewhat refreshed and slightly more in control.

The events of the previous nights played over and over in my head, but I felt no guilt, no need to go downstairs and check on him, reassure him. All that he had given me, all that we had together, but I couldn't. I just couldn't. I had to keep my strength, my secret release, so that I could deal with that cocky bastard at the office.

Turns out, I didn't have to wait very long to test my new resolve. Black sauntered into my office in the middle of the morning, same cocky expression, same secret smirk.

The rage was still there. What I had done to Edward the night before hadn't erased any of it, hadn't sated me in the least. It had only made it worse.

I fucking hated him.

And I couldn't get him out of my head. Edward had been everything I ever needed since the first day I met him. I never thought I would ever want again, and now, here I was, obsessed and torn. Wanting, but not wanting to want. Needing, but not wanting to need.

I felt completely out of control. I felt that there was nothing I could do, no way to stop this progression. It had taken hold of me, and I was losing my grasp.

When I arrived home that night, I resolved to try to make it up to Edward. To leave my obsession for Jacob Black at the office, to try to repair things with the boy who had given his life and body and soul to me. He didn't deserve this.

The basement door was still closed and locked, and his obedience only filled me with guilt.

I unlocked the door and walked quietly and tentatively down the stairs. I was quickly reminded of another time when I descended these stairs and found my sweet boy, broken and suffering because of me, and here he was again, for no fault of his own. It was all on me. Again.

He was curled in a ball on the bed, still naked, harsh red stripes on his flesh. I sat gingerly on the side of the bed, and he flinched, sucking in a soft breath, not knowing what to expect, or why.

"Edward," I said softly. He didn't move, his back to me, his face hidden.

"Edward, look at me."

He slowly turned and faced me, his eyes red and swollen, his expression full of guilt and shame.

"Isabella, I'm –"

"_Bella_, Edward. It's just Bella now. _Your_ Bella." I stroked his soft face, wiping the wetness still evident on his cheeks, the pain in my chest growing and burning as I was confronted with the aftermath of what I had done.

"Bella," he began again. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I disappointed you, I let you down. I deserve whatever you give me, I'm not worthy of –"

"Edward, stop," I quickly interrupted him. "_I'm_ the one who's sorry. Yesterday had nothing to do with you. I was frustrated, out of control, and I took it out on you. _I_ was wrong. You did nothing wrong."

He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, his hand meeting mine on his face, relief flooding his expression.

I grabbed his hand in mine and pulled him towards me.

"Come on. Let's go upstairs and take a long, hot bath. I need to take care of you now."

He smiled at me, grateful and trusting, so quick to forgive me, and he followed me upstairs.

Things were back to normal. For now.

* * *

Black was still my personal tormentor, that hadn't changed. In my office, every single day, flaunting his smile, his secret looks, his secret control of me.

We barely spoke, but words weren't necessary. His presence was all that was needed to slowly chip away at my waning control.

I held to my vow, and I kept my obsession with Black at the office and didn't let it affect my life with Edward as it had that night. But he was noticing that something was off. He would ask me from time to time, different questions, trying to figure out what had changed, what was different, what was _wrong_. I'm sure he thought it was something he had done, and he wanted to right it. That's just how he was. So giving. So completely wanting to please me.

But I couldn't tell him this. It felt... obscene. How could I tell him that I was obsessed with another man?

So I became more and more distant with him, pulling away, working later hours. I didn't trust myself with Edward right now, I didn't want to lose control like that again, and I knew the rage was building again, and I felt powerless to stop it.

So I repressed it. I buried it. I ignored it.

And I ignored Edward.

* * *

Several weeks went by, each day worse than the next. This was so new to me, I had no emotional tools to deal with the situation I found myself in.

I arrived home one night, expecting my usual greeting, Edward waiting for me at the door, hopeful and expectant, only to be let down a short few minutes later. That had been the routine of late.

But the foyer was empty.

The den was empty.

Strange.

"Edward?" I called to him. Maybe he was in another part of the house for some reason, hadn't heard my car in the driveway, which was odd. He was so consistent with that, always anticipating my every need, before I even knew I had a need.

But there was no answer. I called to him again.

"Edward?"

Nothing. No response.

I started to become nervous, a little worried. What if he had finally reached his limit and packed up? Left me. Oh fuck, no. That, I couldn't handle. I needed him, I truly did.

I started to search the house frantically. Basement. Kitchen. Upstairs. His bedroom. My bedroom.

Nothing.

But then I heard a soft noise. The bathroom.

The door was closed, and I tapped softly before I opened the door. I don't know why, I had never acted so deferentially to anyone in my life, not even Edward, but the unease growing in my body was taking hold.

The door swung slowly open, and I saw him.

Lying in the bathtub, soaking, water all over the floor, clothes everywhere. The room was a mess, a complete disaster area. I instantly and completely forgot my fear, my unease, and I became immediately and immensely pissed off. So many rules broken, so much disrespect.

His eyes were closed, earbuds in his ears, the music blaring on his iPod so loud, I could clearly hear the lyrics to the song he was listening to. He had one leg casually slung over the edge of the tub, his foot tapping along with the rhythm of the song.

"Edward," I called to him. He didn't move, still completely unaware of my presence.

"_EDWARD_," I yelled. No response.

Now, I was getting pissed. Like really, really pissed. This was inexcusable, disrespectful, and despite everything that had happened over the past weeks, completely unacceptable. The rage that I had been suppressing for so many weeks over Jacob Black came crashing back, slamming into me with an unstoppable force.

I ripped the earbuds from his ears, and he suddenly opened his eyes and looked at me.  
"Bella! Hey! What's up?" Still reclining in the tub, grinning like that cocky bastard, Black.

I exploded.

"Get the fuck out of that tub, right now. Clean this shit up, then get your ass downstairs. Apparently, you need another lesson in obedience."

He threw his head back and laughed.

"Oh, Bella, chill out for Christ's sake. You are too uptight. I'll clean up later, after I finish my bath." And he turned away from me, and put the earbuds back in his ears.

_What? What the fuck was going on?_

I pulled the earbuds out again, and threw the iPod on the floor, shattering it into pieces.

"_OUT_!" I screamed.

He rolled his eyes at me and sighed.

"Ugh. What-_ever_."

He climbed out of the tub, taking his time, then walked around the bathroom, dripping water everywhere, to get his towel.

As pissed as I was, I still couldn't help admiring his naked, wet body. So perfect. Tiny droplets of water running down his skin.

He rubbed the towel across his body, then wrapped it around his waist, tucking the end in to keep it secure. He looked up at me, folding his arms across his hard chest.

"Okay, I'm out. So what?" he asked, almost bored.

"Downstairs. NOW," I barked at him, my voice shaking with the effort it took to suppress my rage.

He huffed and rolled his eyes again, then sauntered out the door, past my bedroom, then almost past his, when he suddenly stopped and turned to me.

"Oh! Wait! There's something I wanted to show you in my room!" He seemed excited, like he had already forgotten what had just happened, and what was _about_ to happen to him. He walked into his dark room and beckoned me to follow him.

I had barely stepped inside when I immediately felt him grab my arm, pulling me across the room, then throwing me on his bed. He laid on top of me, the weight of his body substantially more than mine, pinning me in place. I couldn't move.

It was the coffee room all over again.

"Now, _Bella,_" he spit out his nickname for me, sarcastically, "_you_ are fucking _mine_." He was holding my wrists in his hands, and he pressed them to the bed. I pulled against him as hard as I could, but I was completely unable to move. "How does it feel, Miss Bella, _hmm_? How does it feel to have someone control _you_?" He was snarling at me, angry and spiteful. This was a side of Edward I had never seen before. "Not too fucking good, huh? Ha! Well, let's just see how _you_ like getting fucked, yes?" He pulled my wrists together and held them with one hand, then pulled a scarf out of his bedside table drawer and tied my hands to the headboard, quite securely. He was a good student, and he remembered. He must have watched what I had done to him.

But this motherfucker had crossed a line, and he was going to pay, and it was going to be ugly.

He sat on top of me to immobilize me, straddling me on the bed. He looked down at me, smiling, grinning a nasty grin, and slowly stroked my cheek.

"Mmm. Bella," he moaned, softly, stroking the skin on my face. "My beautiful, beautiful Bella." His touch was soft and sweet and hesitant, and he seemed to be almost talking to himself. Until his finger reached my lips, and then he stopped.

"Hmm. These lips. These full, beautiful lips," he grinned. "I remember what these lips can do," he said as he ran his finger back and forth across my bottom lip. "I remember what these lips look like as my hard cock slides tightly between them," he laughed, and shoved his finger in my mouth. I considering biting it off, but I was waiting to see what his play was, what he was going to do. "Mmm, and I remember what these lips _feel_ like wrapped around my dick, oh yeah." He was sliding his finger slowly in and out of my mouth, nodding his head along with the rhythm. He was softly whispering, "Yeah... yeah... yeah."

I was gonna fucking _kill_ him.

He pulled his wet finger out of my mouth and rested it on my chin.

"Yeah, remember that, pretty girl, you'll be doing that later. But it'll be much bigger and thicker than my finger, and you're gonna take it all... Oh yeah... all the fucking way..." He was staring at me with a lascivious grin, and he slid his finger down my chin, past my throat, and down my chest, stopping at the first button of my shirt.

"Now. First things first. Let's get you out of this shirt, shall we?" He asked sarcastically, and he started to unbutton my blouse.

"Edward," I ordered calmly. "Untie me. Right now."

He laughed, ignoring my order, and slipped the second button through the hole.

"_Edward_," I said louder, "fucking untie me, and get off me, _now_."

He laughed louder and put a finger to my lips.

"Shhh, little girl. I'm in charge now. You be quiet while I get you undressed. I've got plans for you tonight," he said with an evil grin.

I exploded.

"_Fucking untie me now, you fucking asshole, or you are going to fucking pay! NOW!"_ I pulled my hands, trying to loosen the scarf, but there was barely any give. I tried to lift my legs so that I could kick him or get him off of me, but it did no good. I couldn't move.

He ignored my words and my rage, and he continued to unbutton my blouse, pulling the fabric open to reveal my bra. He ran his finger back up to my lips, then down again, between my breasts and across my stomach. He stayed there for a bit, drawing circles on my skin, teasing.

I continued to plot my revenge.

"Now. You don't go anywhere, okay? I've got to go get something, and I'll be right back. Be a good girl tonight for Master, and I _might_ let you come later." He laughed loudly and climbed off of me, then walked out of the room, humming to himself.

_Master? _Was he fucking insane? I'll show him who the Master is around here, just fucking wait.

I pulled at my wrists again, and found, surprisingly, that I had a little give on the right side. I quickly pulled and twisted, over and over, until I could feel my hand starting to slip. I only had a few seconds before he would return, and I needed to get loose. I was going to teach that son of a bitch _the_ lesson of his pitiful, painful life.

And then, suddenly, my right hand was free. I quickly untied the scarf and released my other hand. I jumped off the bed to go find him, but then changed my mind, a plan forming.

I hid behind the door, waiting for him in the quiet, dark room.

After only a minute or two, he strolled back in, completely naked. He had dropped the towel while out of the room, apparently preparing for his night with me, unaware that I was free, and his expression changed as he reached the bed. He seemed confused. He saw the scarf, still entangled in the headboard, but I was obviously gone.

He was just starting to turn his head to look around the room for me, when I struck. I ran at him from behind, and slammed him onto the bed with the full force of my body. Before he knew what was happening, I had grabbed the scarf and tied his hands to the headboard, but with knots that would hold tight. He would not escape quite as easily as I had.

"_Now_, you little fucker," I growled at him. "_You_ tell _me_. How does it feel, _huh_? How does it feel to have someone control you? And we're gonna see how it feels to get fucked too! Thanks for the idea!" I threw my head back and laughed, then grabbed his face in my hand, assuring his complete and utter attention. "I'm gonna fuck you till you scream, boy," I whispered. "I'm gonna strap your ass and your body until you _bleed_. You are in fucking deep shit. You apparently had no idea what you were just doing, and now... you are going to _pay_."

"Isabella, _please_, I'm –," he started in a feeble and useless attempt to explain. I clasped my hand across his mouth, tightly, quickly quieting him.

"I don't want to hear it, _boy_," I explained as I held my hand in place. "I don't want to hear _anything_ you have to say tonight." Then, I thought better of it, and grinned at him. "Well, no _words_, at least. When the time comes, you can scream _all_ you want."

I removed my hand, and he remained quiet. He blinked his eyes a few times, and his lips quivered. He was nervous, scared. And he should be.

Satisfied with his wrist bindings, I went to his closet and grabbed several neckties and a couple of thick leather belts, then returned to him on the bed. I should have taken him down to the basement, where I had all of my toys and supplies, but this was happening now, and it was happening here. It felt more serious, more meaningful for some reason, more _severe_, to apply my punishment in _his_ bedroom, his private space. Well, what _was_ his space. Teach him that this was _my_ house, that I was in control, and he was my pawn, to do with as I chose.

I used the neckties to secure his ankles to the bedposts. He tried to fight me, but my strikes were quick, well-practiced, and effective, and he knew it - the fight drained out of him quickly. He was immobile and secure in a matter of minutes.

"Now, I think we're all a little calmer, and we've had a moment to consider the actions of the last few minutes." I took a deep breath and released it slowly, willing myself to relax. I had to be calm, centered, focused. I had to remain in control.

I grabbed one of his belts, the thick, black one with the heavy silver buckle. I held the leather strap in my hand feeling its weight, its texture, and I remembered how it looked when Edward wore it. Slung low across his hips, barely keeping his jeans up. I could always see a sliver of his stomach beneath his shirt, a hint of hip bones. That was so fucking sexy to me. I always wanted to get down on my knees in front of him and run my tongue across that stomach, those hips.

But I could never do that. Get down on my knees in front of someone. That was beneath me. _They _got down on their knees in front of _me_.

I shook my head to erase that memory from my brain, and focused on the matter at hand, and why I had Edward's belt in my hand, sitting on his bed, in his bedroom, where he was currently tied up and waiting for his sentence.

Because this was more than just punishment. Edward had been punished before, several times, for some infraction or another. But this was different. This was _retribution_.

I stood up and turned around to face him.

Tears were streaming down his face, and I hadn't even touched him yet. He was already sorry for what he had done. He knew. He _knew_ this would happen. Then why, _why_ did he do it, knowing his horrible fate?

I struck him hard and quick across his thighs. He made a noise, but was trying hard not to scream. But that didn't worry me. He'd get there, and I would help him. He would scream. He would scream until his voice left him.

I struck again, slightly higher, and he squealed a bit this time. I was very close to his balls, and I knew he was panicking, wondering what I was going to do, how far I would go. His dick was hard and pointing up his body, and that just amazed me for a second. This was not a pleasurable act, at all, and yet, he was receiving some sort of enjoyment from it, enough to give him an erection at least.

Maybe it was conditioning or something, and his body hadn't really realized what was happening yet.

I again thought of my basement, and my cabinet drawers, full of all of my toys, but no. I couldn't use any of those now. They were used specifically for pleasure for Edward. Pleasure mixed with pain, which he liked, but still pleasure. I thought it would be confusing to use anything from downstairs on him now. I needed to keep this separate. Distinct. I wanted him to remember this night, on the few rare occasions that I would let him sleep in his bed, to remember what he did and how he paid for it.

I struck again, low on his stomach. This time, he screamed.

* * *

Several hours later, I paused to reassess.

My uncontrollable rage had been contained, and the absolute control I had over him had started to arouse me. His once hard cock, however, was now severely deflated. There was no way he could be enjoying any of this, and God help him if I saw any movement between his legs.

His mouth still worked though, and I put his lips and tongue to great use, several times. Looking down, watching his face as he brought me to orgasm again and again, I should have felt remorse, something, at his constant stream of tears, his miserable expression. But I felt nothing. Well, no, that's not true. Actually, it made me hot. And then I would force him to make me come again.

At some point, I had flipped him over, onto his stomach, and resecured his bindings. I had gone into his bathroom, knowing he kept a selection of anal plugs stored in a drawer, freshly washed and drying on a towel. He would use these on my express directions only, never on his own. I selected the largest, hardest one, and returned to the bed.

"So, Edward, have you learned your lesson yet?" It was a rhetorical question. At this point, he knew better than to answer, but he continued to sob and moan softly. "Have you finally realized who the Master is here, and who is the little bitch? Who serves whom? Hmm?"

A loud crack filled the room as the strap descended across his lower thighs. His moaning increased slightly in volume, but he was past words, past screaming at this point.

Several strikes later, his skin red and hot, I dropped the belt to the floor and climbed on the bed, straddled him, facing his feet.

"I'm hoping that you are learning all of the lessons I'm giving you today, Edward. They are very important, and should not be soon forgotten."

I ran my hands up and down his thighs, his buttocks, pressing my thumbs deeper and deeper between his cheeks with each pass.

"All of this, Edward," I admonished, "is mine. Your legs, your back, your ass... all of it, mine." I grabbed his ass cheeks firmly in each hand and squeezed hard, the heat from the belt strikes burning my hands. He groaned hoarsely, and clenched his muscles tightly against me.

I immediately gave him several quick smacks with my hands, his skin turning even redder.

"Don't you _dare _close yourself off to me. Don't you fucking dare. Your ass is _mine_, and if I want it, I'll take it. Whenever, and however I want." He relaxed slightly, but was still tense.

I slid my fingers between his cheeks and pulled them apart, as widely as I could. He made a soft, high-pitched noise, bordering on panic. Good. He was finally getting there.

I circled my fingers around his opening, but didn't push in. Instead, I grabbed the plug with one hand, then pulling him open wide again, pressed the plug just inside him. He made a muffled, grunting noise. I pushed it further in, and the grunting grew louder. I twisted the toy and pushed, never relenting, until it was fully seated inside of him. I had never used anything this large before. He was moaning non-stop now.

Shit, I wanted to fuck him so badly now, but I had resigned myself not to use my regular toys. The sight of his red, warm ass, spread so wide, stretched open, had me throbbing between my legs again.

I grabbed the plug with one hand and pulled it almost all the way out, then slammed it back in with my palm. He shrieked in what little was left of his hoarse voice.

"That's it pretty boy... let me hear you. Let me hear who you belong to, who you serve!" I slapped my hand across his ass several times, deepening the red tone of his skin, almost purple, and then landed a nice hard slap on the plug.

He groaned loud and long.

"Yes, that's right. Now you get it, don't you little boy?" And I slapped the plug again.  
He started sobbing again, nodding his head, unable to speak.

I grabbed the plug again and started sliding it in and out of him, fucking him as I had promised. The wetness from between my legs was covering his lower back, and I found that I was sliding my wet pussy back and forth across his skin, desperate for another release. I slid my free hand between my legs and started rubbing myself furiously, four fingers at once, slick and wet, and started fucking him harder.

The louder his groans, the hotter it made me, and the harder I fucked him.

When I finally came, it completely exhausted me, mentally and physically, and I collapsed on the bed next to him. I laid there, for several minutes, catching my breath and regaining my composure. I expected to feel regret, but still did not.

Finally, I sat up, and turned to Edward. I know he needed attention, but I was still too entirely pissed off at what he had tried to do to care. I planned to send him straight to the basement, and to leave him there until I felt that I had calmed down, and that he was completely remorseful. This entire exercise would be for naught if he felt that he could do it again at some point in the future. He needed to know that this would _not _happen again, and if it did, the consequences would be significantly more dire.

I knew he was physically incapable, at this point, of trying to fight back, so I untied his ankles first, noting the angry red welts on his skin. He didn't move an inch. I then freed one wrist, paused to check his reaction, and when none came, untied the other one. He had the same angry, red welts on his wrists, from both my crude bindings and the degree of his struggling. He just laid there, on his stomach, arms and legs still spread on the bed, plug deep inside him.

I walked to his bathroom and grabbed two small towels, running warm water over one. I returned to the bed and slowly removed the implement from between his legs. He flinched slightly, but didn't make a sound. I wrapped the plug in the dry towel and tossed it on the floor.

I knew I shouldn't, but I ran the small damp towel over his face, wiping away the wet mess covering his face. His eyes remained closed and his expression never changed.

I sat for a moment looking over his body, looking at my handiwork, the damage I had done. The regret was starting to work its way slowly in, but I continued to tell myself that it was necessary, that he had deserved it, and that he _had_ to know what he had done. How many times had I lost control and swore that it would never happen again? When would I learn?

With a soft sigh, I stood and retrieved the two towels and walked into the bathroom, throwing them both on the floor in the corner of the room. Edward could deal with them later. As I exited the room, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror, and I was shocked at what I saw. My hair was sticking out in all directions, patches of bright red color on my cheeks, my eyes wide and wild.

I looked insane.

Jesus, I hated what I saw, what I had become, but I had to stay strong.

I returned to the bed to collect Edward and get him downstairs for the night, but noticed that he had curled up on his side while I was gone. I couldn't see his face from my position, but I could hear him softly breathing, slowly, rhythmically. He had fallen asleep.

Unbelievable.

I walked around to the other side of the bed, and looked down at his face.

He was smiling. In his sleep.

But not just smiling. He looked content, satisfied. Pleased with himself. The expression was familiar, but I couldn't quite place it, where I had seen it before, what it meant. I stood there and watched him, and the sudden realization hit me like a slap in the face.

It was the same expression he wore when he had done something for me, something that pleased me greatly. It was selfless and giving. He was happy.

_Oh my God._

He had planned this. He had planned _all of it_. For my benefit. He sensed my growing frustration over the past several weeks, felt me pulling away, away from him. He tried to ask me, tried to get me to open up and talk to him, but I refused. He knew that I needed a release and that I was refusing to ask for it, refusing to let him help me.

So he planned this entire scene. The front door. The bathtub. The earbuds. The disrespect. Everything that he knew would piss me off.

The attack on me in the bedroom. Tying me up on the bed and telling me he was in control, that he was going to fuck me. Calling himself Master. Every button he knew I had.

I realized how badly he had tied my hands, _knowing_ that he knew better. How easily I had escaped. How he had left the room, giving me time to escape and turn the tables.

And then, he had taken everything I had given him. All of that pain, the humiliation, the torment.

I couldn't believe it. I couldn't seem to reconcile what I had just done with what he had just done for me. He had never been anything but completely obedient, selfless, always wanted to please me. Always following the rules. And at the first opportunity, I doubted him. I should have immediately seen through him, seen what he was trying to do. I should have rewarded him, not punished him so severely.

I sat on the edge of his bed all night, watching him sleep, tears running down my cheeks.

* * *

At some point, I must have dozed, because I woke suddenly with a start. It took me a minute to remember why I was in Edward's bed, what had happened the previous night. But then it all came rushing back.

I turned to look at Edward and was surprised to see him looking up at me with that same open, adoring expression. My arms were wrapped around him, like I was protecting him from some unseen enemy.

"Morning, Bella," he whispered hopefully. "Did you sleep okay?"

I couldn't take this anymore, the guilt for what I had done. It had pressed on me all night long, suffocating me. I had to explain things, try to make this right, make it up to him in some way. After all he had done for me, it was the least I could do.

"Edward," I started, trying to find the words. "I know what you did." He looked suddenly panicked, like he had done something wrong again and had been caught. "No, no, no. Nothing wrong," I said in the gentlest tone I could muster, stroking my fingers across his cheek. "I know what you did. Last night. For me."

He looked away from me, just for a second or two, a shy and sweet gesture. He was humble and didn't want any credit. He just wanted me to be happy.

Fuck, this was so hard.

But I kept talking. I was determined to make this right.

"I know I've been distant lately, and it's been confusing for you. After everything we've been through together, I should have trusted you, shared my problems with you."

"Bella, don't -" he interrupted, trying to immediately absolve me, but I wouldn't let him. This was my fuckup to fix.

"Edward, no. Please, let me explain."

He nodded his head slightly, and I continued.

I told him about Jacob and about the first time that he walked into my office. I told him about my immediate reaction to him, my sudden need, and how I was filled with guilt, that I shouldn't need anyone but him. That it felt _wrong_.

He didn't say a word, never changed his expression. He just listened.

I assured him that nothing had happened, that I hadn't touched him, but that the pressure was building and getting worse every day. That I didn't know how to handle it. I explained that I had taken out my frustrations on him and that it was wrong, that I should have told him what was going on and been honest with him.

I talked for quite a while, and I said everything I wanted to say, everything I could think of. He was still staring up at me, and the openness in his expression made me feel that guilt all over again for not trusting him.

He slowly lifted his hand to my face, just barely grazing my skin with his fingertips and said the one thing that could make me feel better:

"We'll get through this, Bella, don't worry. We'll get through this together."

* * *

I returned to work the next day and tried to deal with Jacob Black. The need, the itch, was just as bad, if not worse, but at the end of the day, I returned home to Edward and told him all about it, everything that had happened. Then, being Edward, he helped me to release my frustrations.

After a week or so of this new routine, I finally had a break when Black was noticeably absent from work. I thought I would feel relieved at not having to deal with him, with the pressure, maintaining my control, but his absence, instead, made me feel anxious and empty.

When I got home that night, Edward was waiting for me in the foyer, always so perfect. I ran my fingers through his hair, smiling as he moaned softly at my touch. I opened my mouth to tell him about my day, but he starting talking before I could get out a single word.

"Bella, do you trust me?" he blurted out.

Trust. A year ago, it was a completely foreign concept to me, but I found that I _did _trust him. He and I had committed ourselves to each other, and I was determined to make this work with him. Despite all my previous mistakes.

I let myself smile a little at his eagerness.

"Yes, Edward, I trust you."

He grinned excitedly and grabbed my hand.

"Then, come with me," he said as he pulled me towards the basement. "I have a surprise for you."

He held my hand tightly as we walked through the kitchen, then punched in the combination to the basement door lock. I heard the soft click of the lock releasing, and my breath caught in my throat – that sound meant secrets and anticipation and release - and I followed him down the stairs.

When I reached the bottom, I looked at the bed in the middle of the room.

I stood, transfixed for a few moments, trying to comprehend what I was seeing.

It was a man, on the bed. Naked, tied down, and unconscious.

It was Jacob Black.

Jacob Black was in my basement. _In my fucking basement_.

I turned to Edward, for some explanation, and I found him staring at me with that cocky grin that I remember from our early days at the office, one corner of his mouth turned up. He was still holding my hand, and he gave it a quick squeeze.

"Surprise," he said in a throaty whisper.

Holy fuck.

My head was spinning as I started to realize what he had done, what this would mean. For me. For _us_.

"Edward, what…" I couldn't even find the words to ask the questions I wanted to ask.

"It's for you, Bella. For us," he said. "This is a part of you. This is who you are. You don't have to give this up for me."

I stared at him, my thoughts racing with possibilities, wondering if he was saying what I thought he was saying.

"I thought," he started shyly, but then cleared his throat and met my eyes. "I thought this could be something we could do… together."

At that point, I couldn't stop the grin on my face, growing wider and wider as I stood in my basement with my new partner and our new conquest.

The game would continue.

I was suddenly overwhelmed. I stepped closer to Edward and took his face in my hands. I had to try to tell him how much this meant to me, how much _he_ meant to me.

"You," I said. "_You_ are all I want. All I will _ever_ want. But _this_," I gestured to the bed and to Jacob Black, "this is something I _need_. Thank you." I pulled him to me and kissed him, hard.

When we finally pulled apart, we both turned slowly to look at Jacob. He was starting to stir, awakening from whatever drug Edward had sedated him with. I tried to remember if I had told him exactly what my process had been, what I had used, or if he had somehow figured it out on his own.

Jacob blinked a few times, as they always do, and then tried to move his arms and legs. It didn't take him long to realize that he was restrained, and he reacted exactly as I always expected he would – struggling, roaring, panicking like an animal in a trap. We just watched him for a minute or so.

Finally, Jacob looked around the room, trying to determine where he was, what had happened, and he saw me. He reacted immediately.

"You fucking _bitch_!" he screamed in his deep, booming voice, and started pulling at his bindings again, growling in a fit of rage. "Untie me, you fucking whore, or I'll –"

I hadn't even seen Edward move, but he was suddenly standing right beside Jacob, the corners of his mouth turned down in an angry sneer. I had never seen that particular expression on his face before, and it fucking turned me on. It reminded me of his face when he had tied me up in his bedroom, but this was more intense, more real.

"Watch your mouth, asshole," he threatened. "Or I'll fucking watch it for you."

Jacob started to speak, but Edward was faster, and he bent down and pressed a taser into Jacob's neck. I didn't even see where Edward got it from, but Jacob immediately seized and started gurgling, his body shaking for several seconds before completely collapsing motionless back to the bed.

I didn't think I could possibly be more attracted to Edward than I was at that moment, the control he took, his aggression, protecting me. I wanted to strip off his clothes and fuck him hard on the bed, while Jacob Black watched helplessly.

But there was plenty of time for that.

I approached the bed, and sat on the edge, waiting for Jacob to again regain consciousness. The shock from the taser only lasted a few seconds, and I didn't have to wait long. I had waited for this moment for weeks, and I wanted to savor it.

"Hello, Jacob," I said with a smirk. "I have to be honest with you. I have imagined you, just like this, since the day you first walked into my office. You had no idea who you were dealing with, did you?"

Jacob looked like he was going to start struggling and screaming again, but just as quickly, he seemed to accept the reality of his situation, and he stopped fighting. He seemed defeated, his expression turning frightened and soft.

This was completely unexpected.

He suddenly looked so different than he had in the office, so small, so scared. I had always thought he would be like a caged animal, but he was more like a scared little boy.

I hadn't even touched him yet, and the fight was already over. He had given up. I found that I no longer felt the intense anger that I always had in his presence. I had won. He was _mine_.

He was staring at us, and he must have sensed the change in atmosphere, that we were decided, that his fate was in our hands, because he suddenly started to panic and beg.

"Please..." he whispered, his angelic face wet with tears. "Please let me go. Please. I won't tell anyone, I promise."

The basement was cold and damp, and he was shivering. I wanted to touch him, to reassure him, to let him know that I meant him no harm. I reached out to place my hand over his, and he flinched, pulling away from me instinctively. I smiled sweetly.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I cooed in my most comforting voice, and I reached again for his hand. This time, he didn't move. I stroked his hand gently, tentatively, so thrilled to finally be touching him, my excitement building.

"Then… what do you want?" he pleaded desperately, his voice cracking. "Why can't I leave?"

He noticed that the expression on my face had changed slightly, and although I was still smiling, he seemed increasingly frightened.

"Well," I whispered and winked at him conspiratorially, "I just want to play."

_Finis_

* * *

**Disclaimer: All things "Twilight" belong to Stephanie Meyer. "Trunk Boy," however, is all mine.**

First, I know some of you might not like this ending, but this was _always_ the way it was going to end. I wrote the ending shortly after I wrote the prologue (which, if you noticed, is exactly the same). That always made me think of the Smashing Pumpkins' "The Beginning is the End is the Beginning" (and I kinda imagine this song playing as the credits start to roll on the movie version).

Bella has always been a twisted fuck, and that was never going to change. This is a happy ending for her and Edward, but probably not for anyone else. Hope you weren't disappointed, thinking that she would mend her ways or something.

Second, just so you know, the Jacob Black in this story is the Jacob from the _book_, NOT Taylor Lautner. My Jacob is the huge, hulking, towering, snarling Jacob. Not the puppy-faced (or llama-faced, Mabarbarella?) boy.

Third, yeah, the violence in this chapter was pretty extreme. It wasn't meant to be sexually arousing. It was meant to show how angry Bella was and how she far she would go. But remember this is Edward's choice. He chose this life with Bella, and he could walk away any time he wanted to. But he always stays. He just wants to please her.

Thank you to everyone who ever read this story, and to everyone who ever reviewed it, especially those of you who kept coming back for more.

Thank you to Mabarbarella, my dear pervy friend, for SO much. Mostly for dragging me into the world of E/J slash, but also for being impossibly entertaining and twisted. AND for calling ME when she met "The Precious" at Comic-con this summer! I felt so special! Love ya, honey.

Last, but not least, thanks to my beta, and best friend, LibbyLou862. She has helped me IMMEASURABLY on this story from start the finish, in ways that I cannot recount without typing another 9,000 words, and should get half author credit! I couldn't have done it without you, as you very well know! Love you, much L!

Bye. For now.


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